AJJ and Saying Goodbye
Hey. It’s been a while. I don’t really have a reason for you - working to survive keeps you busy. It can sometimes make you not want to sit in front of your computer for the extra time it takes to write one of these. I missed you, though.
Before you get too deep into this, there’s no points to be made in this newsletter. There’s no lessons, no news. It’s just a love letter to something that means a lot to me.
If you’re reading this, which I know you soon will, that means I’ve told you I’m moving to Seattle, and leaving behind my home state of Arizona for the very first time. I haven’t spent more than a week outside of this place.
I have reasons for moving, one of which involves my amazing partner pursuing her Master’s in Social Work at the University of Washington. I am very proud of her, and have decided to travel with her.
But, also, I want to take on some new adventures. You can’t live in your hometown forever, even if your hometown is as special as mine is.
I was just like every other Phoenix kid who considered themselves “alternative” growing up. I wore jeans to spite the heat, I had a ridiculous amount of Suns-themed clothing, and I listened to AJJ. I’ve been listening to AJJ since I was 15.
They were instrumental in helping me realize how special Phoenix is. Them, and the late-2000s/early-2010s Phoenix Suns.
I consider myself lucky, because every punk artist from the midwest really hates where they’re from, and they just want to get out. I never really understood those frustrations, which is why I’ve tallied 23 years and 5 months here.
Music is a great way to tie you to your roots. AJJ, Diners, Playboy Manbaby, Doll Skin, the Gin Blossoms, the Format, hell, even Cablebox. These people come from the same place as me, and they will always tie me to it.
Anyway, I saw AJJ a few weeks ago, with my good friend Gannon. He’s proofread a few of these newsletters for me. Gannon had never seen AJJ before, and I was happy to bring him there for his first time. This wasn’t my first time.
(This is AJJ’s lead singer, Sean Bonnette, skating while a Diners song plays.)
I saw a show composed of AJJ, Joyce Manor and Diners when I was 16. That was my first one, and the first concert I ever went to without my parents, I think.
I saw them at the Rebel Lounge when I was 17, where the band signed my vinyl copy of their debut album. Earlier this year, my band Cablebox played Rebel. Some of you even showed up. Thanks for that. In a quiet moment before the show, I cried tears of joy, because I felt like I was sharing the stage with some of my heroes.
I saw both of AJJ’s shows at the Trunk Space in 2017, celebrating the 10th anniversary of “People Who Can Eat People Are The Luckiest People In The World.” I had just started college, and was not in the world’s greatest mental state. Those shows meant a lot to me, because they reminded me that I was where I was supposed to be.
A bunch of years later, I watched one of my favorite bands play a song called “Big Bird,” off of an album called “Knife Man.”
“Big Bird” is about a lot of things, but for the purposes of today’s newsletter, we’ll focus on the chorus.
“But the Big Red Bird that lives under the city
Doesn't give a damn about me
And it dies every night
By burning alive”
This is a powerful, if unsubtle, metaphor for the Phoenix. It’s a mythical creature, which, if you didn’t know, is the namesake for the town of Phoenix, which is the state capital of Arizona, which is where I’m from.
I’ve heard that chorus many times, and even heard it played live many times, but hearing it live this week made me think back to the first time I ever heard it.
I was 15, I hated myself and I struggled to understand the world around me. In a time that was so chaotic and sad, there was a Big Red Bird that struggled all the same. Despite our struggles, even the want to die every night, the Big Red Bird and I were in this together.
Now, eight years later, Phoenix has given me everything I have. Memories, relationships, belongings, lessons, struggles, successes, everything.
At the end of this week, I will say goodbye. I’ll say goodbye to my favorite bars, Casey Moore’s in Tempe and The Grand in downtown Phoenix.
I’ll say goodbye to the Rebel Lounge, the Van Buren, the Crescent Ballroom and the Trunk Space. I’ll say goodbye to the Phoenix Suns.
I’ll say goodbye to KJZZ, my first post-college newsroom and the perfect place to launch a journalism career.
I’ll say goodbye to family and friends, and the only place that I’ve ever known.
I’ll say goodbye to the Big Red Bird, but not before I thank it for helping shape what I’ve become.