Joining The Cult As A Posthumous Fan

Being born in the 80’s, there were a lot of culturally significant things that I missed. Unfortunately, before I was born there were a slew of important bands that formed and broke up, all without me being able to see them in concert. When I first heard The Doors, I fell in love. But, as I like to do with so many bands I love, seeing them live was never an option for me. The day Johnny Cash died, I saw the Bouncing Souls play at Irving Plaza in New York City. They ended their set playing “Folsom Prison Blues” as a tribute to the Man in Black, but at the time, I only knew The Simpsons’ parody of the song, which Krusty sang. A few weeks later, the singer in my band played more of Cash’s music for me, and I fell in love. It was pretty poor timing. Christmastime, 2002: I knew that “Combat Rock” was a great album, but I was just discovering how amazing “London Calling,” “The Clash,” and other albums by the seminal punk band were, when I would wake up to hear that Joe Strummer died of an unexpected heart-attack. That long sought after reunion that was finally in talks would not go off at the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony as planned.

Every band that I love that no longer tours or makes new music is like an opportunity missed, but for what its worth, it was out of my hands. The Clash stopped touring and making music before I even became interested in music, and Johnny Cash—though his last few albums were nothing short of fantastic—was certainly not performing the way he did back at Folsom or San Quentin. I’ve seen some “old rockers” live, and it’s obvious that I would have been better off having been born at least 20 years earlier. I defy you to find a positive review of the recent Police reunion. Even their drummer Stewart Copeland had nothing good to say.

I may have missed several opportunities, but I’ve done all I can: I’ve bought the CDs (or downloaded the tracks legally), watched the DVDs, attempted the solo stuff where applicable, watched the biopics, etc. etc. These things are out of my hands.

Other things weren’t out of my hands, and for this, I should be punished. I recently finished watching season three of Mitchell Hurwitz’s critically acclaimed TV show “Arrested Development,” and when that first credit began to stream at the end of the thirteenth episode, so did the tears from my eyes. This TV show was nothing short of brilliant, and for three glorious seasons spanning from 2003-2006, I successfully avoided it. This was no easy feat: all roommates with whom I shared living quarters during this time period were fans. I literally left the room when they would watch, because I just wasn’t interested. It wouldn’t be until it was too late that I discovered just how perfect a TV show this was, from the writing to the casting to the acting. And what really hurts the most is that it might as well have been my fault that it was cancelled. See, the show won tons and tons of awards, was so critically acclaimed that you could forget that it aired on Fox, and had some of the most loyal fans ever. Yet, it was cancelled due to lack of viewership. Imagine if I had tuned in. The difference I could have made….

I’m not sure if this is a lesson I can truly learn from. Before discovering “Arrested Development,” I took the cue from my friends and watched seasons one and two of “Lost” in time to catch the premier of season three. I bought “Heroes” season one and had a marathon viewing so that season two would fit nicely in my schedule. But these are the exceptions. I loved the first episode of “Pushing Daisies” but haven’t watched one since; after over $100 in expenses for the first three seasons of “Nip/Tuck,” I’ve abandoned it completely—and not over a lack of interest.

They call “Arrested Development” a cult classic, which is generally reserved for failures that have a small, yet extremely loyal following. Perhaps my lack of consistency comes from my fear of cults. Or maybe it’s more. Maybe I have some sort of sadomasochistic tendency that forces me to show my love for things only when it’s too late. Whatever the case may be, its clear that I have a problem. Consider this my call for help.