music

I have this thing for Taylor Hanson.

It’s been going on a long time. Twelve years, in fact.

That’s the age of a sixth-grader. That’s the length of a prison sentence for aggravated assault. 

I know this. And yet.

There’s nothing cool about Taylor. He has no sense of irony. He’s not so winkingly lame as to be awesome. He’s just….Taylor. Giant and floofty and golden-voiced and singlehandedly trying to repopulate the Earth. A father of four at the ripe old age of 26, he’s the Chinese government’s worst nightmare. In his ill-fitting, brightly colored, questionably accessorized ensembles, I’m pretty sure he’s Tim Gunn’s worst nightmare, too.

But here I am. I love this person. I’ve loved him since I was eleven years old. I don’t know why. I’m over most of my other pubescent weirdness. 

Most of it. 

Anyway, though you’d never know it to listen to the radio, Taylor is still plugging away at his musical career, and he and I have this deal where once or twice a year he does weird,  random things, and I pay money to see them. What’s that, Taylor? You want me to walk around the grounds of Gillette Stadium barefoot in October because it will save little kids from AIDS? Sure, yes! You want me to leave your concert covered in bruises because this pregnant lady in the pit got all feisty on me? Why not? You want me to come see you dressed up in your Andy Warhol costume while you prance around with the white-haired guy from Smashing Pumpkins and the dude who wrote “Stacy’s Mom”?

Absolutely I will.

Tinted Windows is Taylor Hanson’s  new(ish) supergroup, and they made their way to Boston last night, so I dragged my friend L (literally…by her hair) to check them out. They were…special. I don’t know. They were fine. Seeing Taylor without the rest of Hanson is kind of like seeing Jem without the Holograms, but no one hit me and I got to keep my shoes on, so…all in all a good night. 

Right on, TayHan. See you in a couple of months.