Coming around to Browne

I am not a Jackson Browne fan for no good reason. I like his style. I like his voice. I like his rendition of “These Days” way better than Nico’s. But when my boyfriend wants to blast “Running on Empty,” I want to run to another room. Even “Doctor My Eyes” makes me feel a little squeamish. It's bothered me that I can't explain why.

After some soul searching, I think I might have found the root of the problem: brown shades of the past. The color brown is why, growing up, I tried to deny the 1970s ever existed even as it pushed itself into the next decade with its murky colors of sadness. (Seriously, who came up with the idea to have two shades of brown M&M’s? Some guy from the '70s.)

So maybe when I hear Jackson Browne, I think of the color brown and the varying degrees of "ick" I feel regarding shades incidentally found on this album cover:

Light brown, like brush on the side of the road, a sign of death. Which in turn makes me think of miserably hot August days in Boise - days I recall with fondness now, of course. Chafing thighs, greasy bangs and waiting around for a parent to pick me up from somewhere, my dad rounding the corner in his tan Pontiac Phoenix, windows down (no air-conditioning). The days when none of my friends could come over, the days that even the pool wasn’t fun.  The days I wanted to tell my mom “I’m bored,” but didn't because I knew she would give me a list of things to do. Like cleaning my room, washing the brown bathroom floor or picking up brown pine cones. (I'm sure Jackson Browne was playing somewhere.)

Muted brown, like men’s shaggy hair in those days. Parting it down the middle, letting it grow out in a lazy mess, and even worse, having it at a length at which air-drying it would cause the hair to gently flip out against the shoulder. These styles may have returned to fashion lately, but during my '80s childhood, when they were showcased on pimply teenage boys who didn’t care about the new wave styles, it was nothing short of depressing. 

Industrial brown, like marble-textured carpet, a popular style in all my childhood friends’ homes. It went well with orange plaid couches, the kind with uncomfortable wooden armrests, and anything macrame.

Jackson Browne brown, like the feeling I get when I hear his music.

I know, it doesn't exactly make sense, except in the sense that music paints pictures. These ones just aren't that colorful and uplifting. I really had a joyful childhood, but it's taken me awhile to come to terms with the tableau I was born into.

Fortunately for me, Lisa Frank happened in 1979 and brightened up the 80s, just in time for me.