Julian's Song - 5/25/2007 in 2005 - 2007: High School

Well, I recorded the song.

It was important. It is making me feel all kinds of emotions at the same time.

It was logistically difficult, so there were a lot of back-and-forth emails, and a phone call. After some confusion and yelling because my father and I couldn't find any phones, I picked up the phone and said "Hello?" and Julian said, "Hi, it's me."

The "Hi it's me" caught me so off guard that I was nervous for the rest of the conversation and showed it. "Hi it's me." What are you trying to do to me, Julian?

We met a little bit before jazz band - Julian, Jack and I - and worked through the piece. It sounded better than it had in my head. But we didn't get all the way through. When Laura and Mr. Casto showed up, we decided to start setting up for practice and record later. Jack looked sort of transfixed though. He stayed seated at the piano and kept playing through the chords. "This is pretty," he said. "I really like this."

"Thank you," I said.

"Jeez Jack, those chords are making me all weepy," said Mr. Casto, walking by with an amp. "Stop."

"They're Aidan's chords. They're not my chords."

"Oh."

I was setting up chairs and Julian was carrying out one of his complex reed-related rituals on the other side of the room. Then I remembered something.

"Oh - Wh... What college are you going to?" I said.

He didn't turn around.

"Julian"

"Oh - What? Sorry."

"What college are you going to?"

"University of Chicago."

"Oh."

This was the entire conversation. I don't know why I thought it would be longer or more dramatic. I don't know how I thought I was going to introduce the question, or what I was going to respond, in either case. But that was the entire conversation. Afterwards, I felt nothing.

I sat down in my chair. Jack came and sat down in Dave's empty chair and faced me and said, "This definately needs a name."

"But I can't think of anything. What would I call it?"

"Well, what does it remind you of?"

"I dunno. I don't associate images with music. It's just music. It's just... Sound."

"Well, what does it feel like to you? Is it happy? Is it sad?"

"It's... Sort of sad, I guess."

"Call it 'sort of sad' then."

"No, you should call it 'just sound,'" suggested Laura, grinning.

"I have a little bit of a sore throat," said Jack, as if this were a continuation of the conversation. (This is pretty characteristically Jack.)

"That's what you should call it," said Julian as he finished his reed ritual and sat down in his chair.

We stayed an hour late recording. I'm not sure why it took so long. We only did three takes. Julian's dad came into the band room and took pictures of us during the second take. We laughed silently to each other during rests, and Julian looked embarrassed. (Julian's dad looks like an anthropologist. He also always looks a little worn out. He smiles a lot. He has the same voice as Julian. He uses a Segway as a wheelchair, or else walks on two canes. It seems like a pretty good move to use a Segway as a wheelchair. Nobody feels sorry for Julian's dad, he's just that guy who chooses to ride around on a Segway all the time, and therefore is cool. I find myself wondering why he needs it. I also find myself wondering whether it has had any sort of interesting effect on Julian's personality. I should stop treating everyone like a character in a book.)

The song is beautiful. I feel something very much like affection for it. I've listened to the recording millions of times, super obsessively. But I hate it. It frustrates me. It's not perfect, it's not good, it's not what I meant. it was so hard to get out. I wrote it agonizingly slowly, note by note, all the while thinking, "I hate this song. I hate this song." It hurt to write it. It still hurts, now. But I love it.

The song is definately mine. It is absolutely completely my song. I think that can only happen when it hurts like that.

And because it's mine, I have to keep it a secret what it's called.

It's called a million things, all at once. It's called, "I love you, I lied" and "Thank you for gracing my life with your existence" and "When I leave this place I am never looking back" and "Good. I couldn't stand another four years of you being so beautiful" and "highschool sucked" and "Hi, it's me."

It's called "University of Chicago."

It's called "Goodbye."

I played the recording in theory, and the metal heads liked it. (By the way, time signature kid's piece was gorgeous.)

This entry is insufficient. Why is it that the entries I want to be good are never good enough, and the ones that are good are good by accident? That always happens. That's how everything is.

Well, not everything, I guess. The song is sufficient. It is good, and it is good on purpose. I did it. Even if it's not perfect and even if I hate it, it fulfills its purpose. It is an expression of what I feel. It is a conclusion.