Lauren Hoffman
One day in 1997, I was looking at teenager’s favourite TV show called ‘Nulle
part Ailleurs’, hoping that the live music would come to the screen before my
parents got into the living room to watch the 8 o’clock news. In those times,
one of the only chances you had to see music performed live on French TV was to
wait for the end of your busy day at school, head back home on your cheap
smashed up motorcycle, pretend to do your homework in the empty house, adjust
the nirvana posters on the walls of your room, feed the dog, set the table, eat
up eagerly a motherly cooked dinner, talk about your day and your plans, put
your plate in the dish washer, leave the table to avoid adult conversations
about politics and serious matters like your hair or your style, lay full prone
on the couch, switch on tv and wait for the daily live performance in Nulle Part
Ailleurs. Thanks to that show, I had the chance to discover Grandaddy,
Diabologum, The Amps, At The Drive in,…
On that day, a red haired shy girl named Lauren Hoffman played her debut single
‘Rockstar’. She seemed to be so small with her big red vintage guitar, her
hair was almost covering her eyes. They must have been blue. I really liked the
freshness of the song and the genuine attitude of the girl. The drummer tortured
his drum kit feverishly, while Lauren smiled at the surprise aroused in the
audience. I still have that performance on tape somewhere. The song was catchy
and pretty ironic, “They put a shrine on you in Rolling Stone / 16 servants
weeping at your throne / I love you ten times more dead than alive / I want to
be a rockstar too”.
After
that, one day when one of my teachers was sick, I went to the local music store
instead of going in prep room and I was surprised to find the album there
because I lived in a small town. I bought it and went to the café where my
friends were playing table football. None of them knew Lauren Hoffman and I felt
superior for that, as I was not a king of table football. Well, in fact I was
never a really talented scorer but I was a good goalkeeper on the other hand, so
I guess that’s why none of them ever mocked me for that. No one was 20 in
those times.
I played ‘Megiddo’ a lot during the following months, captivated by the
melancholy and the beauty of the songs. I remember fantasies about Lauren being
my soulmate, her words echoing my own pains while I was slowly drifting away
from my friends to a closed depressed state of mind. All the references to blood
struck me deeply and I started to stop worrying about the daily wounds I got. I
guess I must be called a latecomer in terms of teenage crisis because I never
felt quite differently when I entered university on the next year. All my
friends changed except one who would always be special to me. I went from shy to
more shy and then progressively stopped being an asshole with myself.
In 1999, she released her second album, ‘From the Blue House’, something
more adult, like myself. This album is more acoustic and even more sincere. As I
started opening myself to the world, my friends changed again and I started a
real life. My brother gave me his acoustic guitar, I started writing songs,
getting drunk, smoking, believing in myself, confiding to some people, giving my
opinion, going back home in the early morning, practicing my jokes and learning
the tricks of the trade. I never really had a long term serious relationship
with a girl but I made my way through life without worrying about it. I even had
sex with a lesbian but was too drunk to remember all the details. When I think
about it, I play ‘Pink Triangle’ by Weezer and smile, because for a second I
really thought that I had found the one. Lauren was always present somewhere in
my mind, melodies and words going through my head all the time. The song ‘Look
Like Shit’ is one of my favourite. After a while I discovered that she had
stopped doing music and felt sad and betrayed for a second, before considering
the fact that it was only music in the end. I guess it is more than that.
Unsurprisingly, this coincided with my first big romance. I fell in love with a
girl but was stupid enough not to tell her when we were together. From the first
kiss, we started drifting apart inexorably. She eventually found a job in
Switzerland and rarely took the plane back to me. I childishly e-mailed her my
love one day, too late of course. We eventually met a few weeks later in a café
to talk over it and she deceived me by pretending that this was not really
important in the end. I remember going back home after that cold meeting and
some friends had gathered to watch E R on tv at my place. I must have been awful
on that evening. I remember entering the living room and say, looking at Dr
Greene on the screen, “Isn’t he dead yet, that jerk?”, and lock myself in
my room, reorganising the furniture. I played Megiddo on that evening, only sad
getting sadder. My roommate helped me a lot then, as we shared the sadness of
our relationships. She is now more happier than me in this field, and that’s
just fine. When I think about that perfect girl (or so it seemed), I can’t
understand why did the screw up come. She was just perfect to my eyes and to my
mind, she liked my humour, we shared the same passion for cooking, and more. In
the early days of our relationship, time would stop when we kissed. She even
liked the Beatles as much as I did. But her favourite has always been John
Lennon. I have the tendency to prefer Paul McCartney. So I guess it would have
been a problem someday. It took me a long time to forget her, or better said, to
stop believing I had been an asshole with the two of us. She had her share in
the screw up.
If you want some more explanations, just watch Annie Hall by Woody Allen.
The years from that time onwards are equally boring and happy but I would need
more time to get into the details. Lauren Hoffman has always been there, and no
longer only during the bad times. Her albums are unquestionably precious to me
but others joined her in the hall of fame; Chokebore, Graham Coxon, Pavement,…
After years of silence, she has returned with a band called The Lilas. My
therapy is heading towards another level.
This is my life and it’s ending one minute at a time.
-Angus J Anderson
/may 1st 2004/