The summer of 1984 found me not in the poorly predicted and highly overrated throes of an Orwellian nightmare but instead in the welcoming arms of a small town called Göppingen in southern Germany. My dad worked for a German company and for the summer of 1983 he had pulled the old switcheroo with another guy from his company whose son was about my age and was itching to sample the decadent delights of America (which in effect ended up being pasteurized cheese slices and Wonder Bread, oh yeah, and Coke, he drank the shit out of some Coke).
Speaking of Coke – and please bear this digression – the mother of the boy whose family I was staying with thought that since I was an American I must naturally drink the sugar water as a staple to my seeming myriad of other nefarious stateside practices. As it was I didn’t rally drink much of the stuff and thus was in a position in which for every meal at his house I had the dubious honor of being the guy for which they ceremoniously carted out the holy Coke bottle which was otherwise kept in their pantry along with what must have been an endless supply of more bottles. Once I finally let them in on the fact that I did not really care too much for the stuff and would have much rather been drinking the fantastic Weizen they were all drinking, and that to make matters worse, no one in America drinks warm Coke, I was treated to something that I simply must share – German ice technology. You see, in Germany, in the eighties, cold drinks were something of non-issue given the German tendency to actually want to taste the fluids they poured down their throats much unlike their Western cousins. So what this meant was that there really was no such thing as an icemaker in German refrigerators those days. So what does any self-respecting well-balanced German host do? Did you say chill the bottle? Ha, ha, silly you. No, no that would be too obvious. What Herr Strehler did was go out to the shop and purchase little plastic bags that were molded into the shape of ice cube trays, which you would then take home, fill with water, place in the freezer, and then peel off when your ice was ready. So you can imagine how this added to their image of me as the decadent American derelict rapt with outrageous demands and immoral urges. And I’ll tell you right now – it really hurts to be called a derelict. Ba-dum-bum.
Among the surrealistic diorama that was my trip, I was able to bring home a slew of experiences that I occasionally enjoy revisiting in my mind. One evening, we watched the Godfrey Reggio film Koyaanisqatsi, sitting in the cobblestoned courtyard of a castle, in the company of about a hundred heavily stoned German Green Party hippies. It sounds like recipe for disaster, but in fact it was fantastic. Keep in mind that I was sixteen, dumb as a bag of hammers, stoned, a Philip Glass virgin, and a sponge for hanging out in castles. I saw some other films that summer which also left an indelible impression on me. In that one month I saw Harold and Maude and Diva in the theater, and The Creature From The Black Lagoon and Stranger Than Paradise on German TV.
From Harold and Maude my brain was re-imprinted with the music of Cat Stevens. Like many American kids in the seventies I grew up with Cat Stevens. His stuff was a virtual soundtrack to my childhood, so the songs in the Harold and Maude soundtrack took me back, and in the process gave an extra spark to an already amazing film. I have already mentioned Philip Glass. His music for Koyaanisqatsi was a mind-blowing experience for me. The setting was ideal, and I have been entranced by that soundtrack ever since. And then there is the music from Stranger Than Paradise. John Lurie scored the film, and the atmospheric and haunting music was performed by a string quartet. The basic melody that carries throughout the film is one that to this day is virtually stuck in my mind. And then there is the Screaming Jay Hawkins classic, I Put A Spell On you, put to such great use through the cassette deck of the Eszter Balint character, Eva. When Lurie asks her in his hilarious monotone what she keeps playing all the time she informs him “it’s Screaming Jay Hawkins, and he is a wild man, so bug off.” Which has to be one of my favorite all-time lines.
On top of all this, one of the guys in the little group of friends that I hung out with on my trip was the town punk rocker. The rest of them were bonafide hippies. They rolled their own cigarettes, rarely bathed, had bad teeth, slept around, protested nukes, and bought ABC records in Stuttgart. Okay, that last part was only actually done by my host. But the punk, whose name I have long forgotten, had a Mohawk, wore sleeveless shirts, knee length cut-off green army cargo pants, and combat boots. You know, in case you didn’t know he was the punk.
One day I finally got this guy to actually speak to me, which was something he notoriously does when he is damn good and ready (something I can easily relate to). I told him I was from Texas and his ears pricked up.
“Texas, you said?”
“Uh yeah, Texas.”
“You have heard of Millions of Dead Cops? This is my favorite band, Millions of Dead Cops.”
Had I heard of them? I fucking loved that band. They were one of Texas’ great contributions to the world of hardcore, and they were amazing. In fact, they were one of my own favorites too. And from then on, the silent punk and I were okay, and the world a little smaller.
I would have fleshed this post out, but my wife will have her labor induced tonight and thus I will be ensconced in a local hospital for the next few days. Wish us well. When next I post, my daughter Mara will drool amongst us. Will we ever be set free?
best best best of luck!! can’t wait to see her. i love baby head smell!!
i was JUST talking about harold and maude last night. i was a big bud court fan when i was a kid.
First of all, congrats on the new kid!! I hope everything went/is going well with the induction. My wife went into labor about 2 hours before they were going to induce. talk about waiting for the last minute.
Anyways, to your post… Even though you mention some really great film music worthy of discussion, I will instead focus on your coca cola story and share my similar experience. so pardon the digression and the length of this comment…
in the early 90s on my way to visit Ms. Anaconda in Guadalajara I detoured for a few days to see a waterfall i had read about. After taking a bus, then a van, then the back of a pick up truck, then a sugar cane truck (where the driver informed me that he had done time for murder, but was not really a bad person) and finally a couple mile walk, I finally met the chief of the tribe who i’d been told by the cane truck driver would take me to the waterfall. The chief and his family (wife and about 10 children) took me in and put me up for the time i stayed there like i was son #11. I ended up staying longer than planned because it had just rained and the river was overflowed so we had to wait several days before we could go see the waterfall. They had a square cement construction where they had beds where everyone slept, one room for the boys, one for the girls, one for mom and dad. They had one electric outlet where they would switch back and forth between a radio and a lightbulb. A few of them spoke spanish, but amongst themselves they spoke an indian dialect. They didn’t know where Mexico City, or Puerto Rico, or the USA were in relation to where they were, the US might as well have been the moon for all they knew. One of the sons had once paid a bunch of money to spend an uncountable number of hours hidden in a van so he could spend about a day in said moon before being sent back home by La Migra. At the time I was there he was saving money so he could do it again; he spoke about it the same way some people talk about skydiving. On the last day we sat down to eat a meal of fresh river shrimp caught by one of the older sons and I, avocado and mangos from the nearby trees picked by the younger ones, chicken that earlier had been running around the yard killed and prepped by dad, and home made tortillas made by mom in the clay oven by the tree. Scrumptious. But before we sat down to eat in the outdoor table, the dad gave one of his kids a coin and asked him to go get a bottle. I went with him and we walked about a quarter mile to the neighbor’s hut. The neighbor used his one electrical outlet to power a refrigirator which he had filled with 2 liter bottles of Coke. The son gave him the coin and the guy gave us a bottle of coke. Ice cold. Seeing that big jug of coke in the middle of that table is still one of the strangest juxtapositions i’ve ever seen, but it was delicious and we all drank that 2 liter bottle like it was the finest french wine.
oh yeah, the waterfall was awesome.
thank you roberto. just thank you.
good coca cola: i grew up spending summers in mexico drinking coke with every meal the kind that still had real sugar and you would walk around the corner lugging a sack of empty glass bottles that you would shelve yourself and buy an equal amount of full bottles that you would take from the metal chiller filled with big blocks of ice. then on your way back to abuelas house you’d pick up the tortillas from the tortilleria and you’d buy them by the kilo. god my soul is hungry right now.
bad coca cola: we were on a day trip to a small town and my mom wouldn’t let me drink the local water (i was recovering from a bout of dysentery) and in those days you couldn’t buy bottled water because that was the stupidest fucking notion ever. so i had to drink coke all day is it was hot as hell and in the car with no air conditioning and it was august. i was so thirsty and i drank so much coke that i vomited by the side of the road gripping that stupid bottle of coke.
Man this post and the comments are fantastic.
I was born near the summer auf der love and have been back several times. Youth bars in Germany serve beer mixed with Coke and call it diesel. I prefer the beer mixed with carbonated lemonade which they call radler.
Kids in rural Mexico purchase bottled coke and have the contents poured into a plastic bag with a straw so they don’t have to pay the deposit.
I was introduced to Harold and Maude around the same age and was strongly influenced by the sound track as well.
Speaking of Bud Cort, if anyone who has ever lived in Houston hasn’t seen Brewster McCloud at least twice, they need to.
Man, what was the name of the guy in all those comedy martial art movies that were made in houston in the 80s?
Chuck Norris
No, not chuck, though good guess. it was an
asian guy. wiht a funny name. i think he was an ice cream guy in the movies or somethign like that.
I remember the first time I went to Mexico and on one of the bus stops I got out to stretch my legs and get some refreshment. I asked the nice vendor lady for a coke and she promptly whipped out a bottle. Then she asked if I wanted it in a bag. I said yes. You can imagine my surprise when she took out a little plastic baggie, poured the coke into it, popped a straw in and handed it to me. It felt very weird to sit on the bus holding my little bag of coke and sipping it through a straw.
That is freaking incredible John…congratulations on the child. Clinton will be a father very soon as well. I just got an email from Brian Furr, I wonder if he has a child? Mike Gunn I think was one of the first, although I am not aware of the chronology of everyone’s birthing from the time period. I for one have yet to breed and the world ought to be thankful for it. Im sure the child would be.
I’ve just watched the 1973 or 72 version of “Solaris”, and I was freaking blown away. I suggest everyone to give it a view if you have the opportunity. I downloaded it form kaazaa LITE. There is a more modern version filmed in 2003 as well, with George Clooney, and I found the differences fairly interesting, but the Russian version superior. Really killer sci-fi. No need for the CGI effect of today’s movies, just a great story. Hollywood kinda screws it up, but still worth seeing especially if you’ve seen the original. If anyone is interested in seeing the original, I have a copy, and Im willing to make an effort to get it to anyone that so wishes. I practice on Tuesday and Thursday nights, and its easy enough to drop it off somewhere in town..I.e. Downtown Houston…Im down in Clear lake hiding from myself and my self destructive nature for the last 5 years, getting a degree. 3 more hours…nuff said…come see us play Rudyards Sat 14th..we’re sounding as good as we have ever. Congrats John.