"those boon times went bust - my feet of clay, they've dried to dust" - Fiona Apple, 'Used to Love Him'

Used To Love Him

It was April, 1997. I was newly 18. The past 15 months had been the most monumental time of my life. The brain surgeries, the eye surgeries, the headaches, the memory problems. It was hard to spend time with anyone - I got tired, my eyes wouldn't focus, and I couldn't concentrate well. I had just lost my main outlet - my trumpet. Whenever anything was tough in my life, I would go to my room, sit up straight on my bed, and play. I know the trumpet isn't the most romantic instrument - it would have sounded much more inspiring if I explained my love for the guitar, perhaps - but it was mine, and I was good, and I poured out my heart through it. But now, I couldn't play, and my attention span was shot, so writing was out, and my limited options frustrated and hurt me.

I turned, then, to music. I avoided jazz - it was too painful - but I delved into emotional female singers. Tori Amos, of course, but also Beth Orton and Fiona Apple. I first heard Fiona Apple when her first single, Shadowboxer, came out. It was in a jazz vein - her piano skills were amazing - and I quickly bought the CD. I listened to that CD over and over... and over. Every word was either something I had gone through (I was so experienced back then, you know) or something I figured I would go through some day.

And then I heard that Fiona Apple was coming to Cleveland. I was overjoyed. It was at the Odeon, in the Flats. The Odeon is a small club and it gets some great acts. I had never been to a concert (ok, that's a lie; our parents took us to a Michael Stanley Band concert once), but I knew that I HAD to go to see Fiona Apple. I asked my parents, and they said yes - of COURSE they said yes; I was alive. I got whatever I wanted - but they said I would have to go with my brother Michael (who was 24 at the time) and his wife Karen. I actually have no idea why Michael was even in town - he had just finished his time in the Navy, and he was a newlywed with a 3-year old daughter - but whatever. He was.

I don't remember much about getting to the show (Michael drove, of course) or parking or walking in. I do know that I insisted that we stay up near the front, as it was a general admission show. The opening band was Morcheeba. I thought they were good, but I just wanted to see Fiona. I remember every sinew of my body was tensed; I was so, so ready. I was still wearing my eyepatch from my last eye surgery, and I'm sure I looked so odd, but I was far past caring by that point.

And then Fiona came on stage. The Odeon is small, so I saw her, close up, and she was beautiful. Sultry. Sexy. I felt this surge of attraction that had nothing to do with sex. I didn't want to DO her - I wanted to BE her. She began to sing, and her voice was just as gorgeous in person. More so. Her piano playing was exquisite. She sang every song from Tidal (I ticked them off in my head as she did so) and a cover of Hendrix's Angel. I stood still the entire time. I was frozen with admiration. This girl who was my age had such talent, such success. I'd never listened to a musician so thoroughly and then seen them perform their songs.

When the concert was over, we left. There was no meet-and-greet, no autograph session. As many concerts as I've been to, that's never been my thing. But I changed between the time I walked into that show and the time I walked out. When I went in, I was scared, weak, and dependent on other people. When I left, I walked a little more straight and held my head up a little higher. If a girl my age could make that kind of music, then surely I could recover from brain surgery and make something of myself. I wanted to be the inspiration. I wanted to be the role model. I wanted to make something of myself. And now, I had experienced the impetus to make all of that happen.

Oh, that concert wasn't the nepenthe to make all the pain go away. I didn't walk out, double-vision cured, memory intact, comprehension in top shape. But maybe I lost some of that shame - the shame of losing my music, the shame of losing who I was, what defined me - and found, instead, the hint of a purpose somewhere inside me. Maybe I woke up the next morning and felt compelled to think about my future, to see where life could take me besides to a career as a professional musician. I think I saw that I could enjoy music as an outsider, but that I could still accomplish much in my life.

So, as odd as it sounds, I can pinpoint that concert as the point where my depression ended and my new life began. A few months later, I went away to college. I'm not going to pretend it was easy. The headaches were bad. It took me months to make friends. But I did it, and I become who I am today - for better or for worse.

Go listen to some Fiona and think of me.