1995 was a tough year. In July, my grandmother, who was the
most important person in my life at the time, died. She was 72. I can’t begin
to describe the influence that women had on me. I am, in essence, a cynical
person. I tend to be argumentative, unyielding at times, sullen and moody. My love of music comes from her. A large part of my sense of humor also is due to her.
Every bit of me that runs counter to that inclination to negativity comes from my grandmother. While she
had her own struggles (we all do), she was someone who sought to enjoy life.
She made friends easily and people liked being in her company.When
she was joyful, she could fill up a room with her exuberance. It’s been 20 years and I
still miss her terribly and think of her often.
In September of that same year Son Volt released Trace. I mention this because, for good or bad, that
album will forever be tied with my grandmother’s death. This is not a bad
thing. I won’t go into all the reasons why this album is considered a modern
classic. You can read those reviews elsewhere. I will point out that it set a
standard for the fledgling “Alt Country” genre by which all others would be
compared. It was an album built on contrasts. It was thunderous and tranquil, aggressive
and subtle, tense and soothing. But
above all it felt personal and was sincere in a way that most other albums by bands
making similar music at that time were not. All of these reasons made it
something that was extremely comforting to me while I dealt with the loss of my
grandmother. I listened to it nonstop throughout that fall and winter and while
I never necessarily felt “happy” after listening to it, I always felt better.
Tonight, Jay Farrar is in Austin to celebrate the 20th
anniversary of Trace and he will be performing
songs from that album. And I will be in the audience, singing along, thinking of gandma.
