Welcome to the newest regular feature here at True Genius Requires Insanity, the “Crate Dig.” As you may already be aware, we strongly feel as though it’s time to advocate a “back to basics” movement in music. We feel that instead of everyone being an innovator, that some of us need to be preserving the importance of original source material. To that end, the “Crate Dig” will feature members of the TGRIOnline.com staff, the “Hustlers of Culture,” digging through their mental crates to remember the songs that made them appreciate music. There will be some amazing, and yes, embarrassing choices here, but always the key impact is to remember when music was not something to be over studied, remixed, downloaded, forgotten and torn asunder. We’re remembering when music was simply a song you liked, and really couldn’t tell you more than a sentence or two why. Sit back, reminisce, and enjoy the building blocks of music appreciation.
Year Released: 1993 Year “Discovered” by Me: 1996
Reason Discovered: It was my first semester of freshman year of college girlfriend’s favorite song.
Why a fan?
Freshman year of college was a scary time. So scary, in fact, that I literally decided to date the first girl that seemed remotely interested in me. That relationship lasted three of the most confusing months of my life, but, her favorite song, well, that relationship has stayed with me forever. I feel that “Laid” by James is of the class of 90s radio friendly rock songs that is absolute perfection. Everything from the drum pickup, to the jangly guitars to the sweetly sang sexually frank lyrics makes the song a real winner. “This bed is on fire with passionate love, the neighbours complain about the noises above, but she only comes when she’s on top.” Wow. All that floods into my head is my freshman year dorm room at Providence College, all 8 x 10 of it, crammed with Jill and seven of her friends, all of them drinking wine coolers and me sitting at my desk playing DJ, singing the chorus and drinking a Diet Coke, alcohol afraid and desperately wanting seven of the girls to leave. Play this song while I’m at any bar or club, and I revert back into that shy 18 year old, belting those lyrics out of my window long after coed visitation hours were done, scared but carefree, singing about orgasms from the cowgirl position. Pure, innocent moments, the kind you relive, but can never repeat.
Epilogue: The lack of not making any of the lyrics in the song ever come true doomed that relationship, and is a constant source of humor whenever the crew from the second floor of Dore Hall gets together to reminisce.
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