I Still Heart the Reivers

I didn't spend my high school years trying to get in to clubs to see live music. I spent my high school years trying (and succeeding, more often than not) trying to get into bars to drink beer. And to see and be seen. What music we listened to at a bar was purely incidental to the socializing and the drinking. There may have been an underground live music scene in Jackson, Mihhihhippi, in the early 1980s--and I know in retrospect that some great southern new wave and punk bands were touring small clubs at that time--but I missed it. 

So when I came to Austin in 1985, the concept of going to clubs just to hear music was pretty foreign. But, somehow, early on, I went to a Zeitgeist show. I don't remember who took me or when, but I'm pretty sure it was my freshman year.  And I just fell completely head over heels in love with them. First, of course, there was the music--beautiful songs that begged to be sung along to, spectacular harmonies, music that was twenty times better than most of the stuff being played on the radio. But there were so many other things I loved about them--they were people I looked up to, just slightly older than I was, seeming thoroughly at home in Austin and in their own skins--which was something I desperately wanted.  They were regular people with day jobs--the drummer was a cook at one of my favorite hamburger stands--but they were also serious musicians, with fans and a record and write-ups in the Chronicle. It was my first exposure to Austin's unusual approach to celebrity--that you would bump into musicians you idolized at the grocery store, or at a party, or at the bookstore--and not pay them any special attention. Not to mention the fact that two of the band members were women and that they were integral to the band, not just eye-candy. (Which was not as common then as it is now.)

Anyhoo, in my mind, at least, Zeitgeist (later, the Reivers) became my band. The first band that I would go see just to listen to the music. The first band that I would go see on my own--I could walk from my dorm to the Student Union and listen to them unmolested and unnoticed, and then walk back to the dorm, safe and sound.

I nearly wore out my copy of "Translate Slowly," their first LP.

So, when word came that the Reivers were doing one, then two, reunion shows this weekend, after a 16-year hiatus, I jumped at the chance to see them again.

And, dear readers, it was a great show. Once the music started--so familiar and so personally meaningful that I choked up a few times--I immediately remembered why I had loved them so much. Pod and I planted ourselves at the foot of the stage, and weaved and bobbed and sang along and clapped and shook the floors. (Pod reports that he considered it a great show because: 1) he got knocked sideways when a small amount of moshing started; and 2) someone spilled beer all over him. Just like the old days.) It made me feel like a kid again, when my life was stretched out in front of me with all kinds of possibility. And it also grounded me where I am now, because even though all those familiar faces -- both in the band and in the crowd -- were a little more wrinkled around the eyes, we were still all the same people, just older and wiser and with different daily priorities. But, dear readers, we still rock.