I got the new Hold Steady record today. It's good.

Ben picked me up around 5:30 from my house on North Shore. We were making the 45 minute drive from Sarasota to St Pete to see the Florida Orchestra play what would turn out to be lovely classical program spotlighting a guest cellist who snuck in two contemporary pieces that had the conservative audience on their feet by the end (more on the state of concert music in another post). My parents had some extra tickets and we weren't about to pass up the chance to get out of town and hear some Beethoven.

I remember the light. It must have been April. Tampa Bay Aprils rival anywhere in the world for most perfect weather; they are surpassed perhaps only be Tampa Bay Octobers. Driving over the Skyway and listening Cat Power's first dive into soul music on her newly released album The Greatest, Ben and I chatted and admired the beams of light coming through the smattering of clouds, reflecting on the water. It was breezy, but just enough to stir the Bay and the Gulf but not create white-caps.

The nice light continued at the venue. Located right on the Bay, the white pillars contrasted nicely with the green lawn and blue blue sky. It was tough to tear ourselves away for the music.

I'm not sure what happened after the concert. I think we had dessert with my parents, maybe we even had dinner. But eventually we started the drive home. And now Ben took advantage of the evening turned to night and my captivity in a speeding hunk of steel and plastic. He popped in the disc and I heard Craig Finn's voice alternating channels with each line. "She said always remember/never to trust me./Aww she said that the first night that she met me./She said there's gonna be a time/when I'm gonna have to go/with whoever's gonna get me the highest." And then the band kicks in with organ and a big riff. What the hell is this?

There was a vague familiarity with the sound, probably from hearing Lifter Puller while stuck in a friends car or blasting out of a dorm room. But I wasn't ready for this. I couldn't accept it. I didn't hear the reference to "Running Up that Hill," which is maybe my favorite song. It just sounded contrived. I wasn't offended by Finn's delivery. I kind of liked that. But all I could hear was an homage to Springsteen, which I like, and overwrought bar/cock rock, which I'm not a fan of. I told Ben as much, but he insisted that I wasn't hearing it; that I was wrong. And because Ben was in attendance at the last North American appearance of Pavement and had introduced me to Low and Slint, I couldn't deny him. He played "Your Little Hood Rat Friend" twice, but I couldn't get past the bridge of "Banging Camp." Ben piloted us south down 75 and West on University and by the time he dropped me off the disc was starting over and I just shook my head and said goodnight.

I tried to sleep, but rather than dreaming of the sublimity of Beethoven and virtuosic cellists, I lay awake with Finn screaming in my head. "He did name drop Ybor city, where I'd had my first beer as a high schooler." "Maybe they like Springsteen for the same reasons I like Springsteen." "Maybe Ben's right. Finn is a great storyteller and the music is the music that his characters would want sound-tracking the movies about their lives."

The next morning I tricked someone into giving me a ride to Boogie Woogie, bought the record, and listened to it all day. It was on my iPod and sound-tracked the next few months in Sarasota. Saturday morning bus rides to Farmer's Market were narrated by Finn, replacing Deerhoof and Orchestra Baobab.

I air-guitared naked in my room and sung at the top of my lungs whenever I had the chance. The characters became friends of mine. Finn was a genius and I almost missed it.

A couple weeks later I was back on the Skyway insisting that Mary and David need this music. But I knew it was futile in the moment. All I could hope was to plant a seed. I have no idea if it grew in them like it grew in me. But the light sure was nice.