art by: Mal Bray

Rockin’ and Inspirin’ Twice As Hard

Willin:

Spring, 1990: I hit the garage door opener, the clunk noise of it slowly folding up was the intro sound to a weekly experience that illuminated the feeling of being lonesome, but simultaneously free. I’d hop on my red Mongoose bike (sans helmet, it was 1990), with my Jansport secured over each shoulder. I’d get so focused and excited to then pry open my yellow Casio walkman and pop in the cassette that would soundtrack my ride to school that I’d often forget to close said garage door.

What was on this cassette? Well, to me, an elementary school newbie, it was a very important decision. This music was not only to accompany my ride, but also serve as my co-pilot and best friend.

In February of 1990, The Black Crowes released their debut record, Shake Your Money Maker. Six months prior to that, my family and I had moved to a new town in Northern New Jersey. Like any kid still in the single digits, I was reluctant. I was excited for a new house, new room, new sunny street, but cautiously optimistic about my new life. I didn’t know anybody, and even at a ripe age, was more comfortable as an introvert settling in a small group of people where I could converse openly with maybe one or two others that I was familiar with.

This was now a big school in a town where sports reigned king. Coming in, I had picked up a Franklin baseball glove that felt more like plastic than leather, maybe ten times total. I took a few wild hacks off a tee, but that was it. My sole memory is of my helmet flying off as opposed to actually connecting with the ball. So, let’s just say that yes, even at that is point in the wondrous world of child, to the fault of no one, I was behind.

At recess, I couldn’t really catch a ball. At least not like everyone else. Nor could I catch up to someone running down the sideline. But I could try, and I did have the desire to push it, so there was at least that fire.

Then in April of 1990, I found The Black Crowes Shake Your Money Maker cassette in the parking lot of the school as I was waiting for my mother to pick me up. Subconsciously, but maybe with deep-rooted intent, my first inclination was to run up to it and kick it – which I did. This may have been the best soccer kick of my short career because it bounced off the brick wall of the school and landed right in my hands. So, I kept it. As it was, completely undamaged and without a case, it was rewound to the very start of the album.

One thing that is a given with me is that music has been part of my fabric since the start. Long before any memory of a particular toy or activity, I remember a record player, The Beatles and my mother introducing me to Stevie Wonder at two-years-old. Life changed, scenery changed, sports and friends came in-and-out, but music has always been my security blanket.

I had been familiar with The Black Crowes version of “Hard to Handle” and the lead single “Jealous Again” from the radio, but it was another particular gem that would impact my life in an immeasurable way.

Descending:

That first bike ride morning where I had Shake Your Money Maker in hand was as picturesque as could be. Clear, with a sun that rose gradually like it was smiling down, allowing you to ease into the day. It was brisk but providing an air that felt fresh and invigorating to inhale. I popped the tape in, fastened the yellow deck and just hit play.

Whoa. The crunch guitar intro to “Twice As Hard” was intense and felt just like there were now firing cylinders on the back on my Mongoose. At thirty seconds in, the drums and the rest of the band kick in, just as I was hitting the steep hill down Park Ave (seriously, Park Ave). Every single time, this song intro rush perfectly paired in unison with the free fall of the hill, before frontman, Chris Robinson breaks into…

“Clean as a whistle, smellin’ like a rose.”

And that’s exactly what it felt like. A brand-new slate, where for just this four minutes and ten seconds I was not alone – I was not new, I was not behind, I was not lost, I was not uncomfortable… I was just young and free.

Turning right fiercely onto the side streets that eventually lead into the back of the school, I would sing the chorus at the top of my lungs, exaggerating the “Twiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice as hard” each and every time. One morning in particular, there was an older girl sitting atop a giant rock in the woods with one of the main jocks. They got a good laugh out of my drive-by. For a little sensitive bee, I didn’t care at all.

Years later, the same bike ride routine would apply to Pearl Jam’s “Last Exit” off Vitalogy. There’s symmetry there that I’ll get to later. When it all began however, what fastened itself to me like a tattoo was this concept of twice as hard.