274. Song No. 4,126: “Growing Up With GNR,” Aqueduct
I Sold Gold, 2005

If there were one life stat I could have immediately accessible to me, the definitive number of playlists and mixed CDs I’ve put “Growing Up With GNR” on might top that list. It is not only my favorite Aqueduct song but also one of my favorite tunes in general, popping in like a sorely missed old friend among a parade of music I’m getting to know better just to grace my terminally graceless white-girl lack of rhythm (you’d think all those years of figure skating would’ve helped, but you’d be wrong) with a decidedly welcome and wholly uncontrollable urge to dance along and joyfully belt out lyrics I’ve been singing off-key and at the top of my lungs for almost 20 years. (And I’m super excited that my other favorite song of theirs, “Hardcore Days & Softcore Nights,” which I love for completely different reasons, should be popping up pretty early in the H songs.)

At a time when some mighty impenetrable emo sensibilities had a stranglehold on my music tastes, I discovered the one-man indietronica bedroom band Aqueduct, whose synthpop sound was too irresistible and catchy for me to ignore, though I probably wouldn’t’ve even given them a try if not for being signed to Barsuk, forever my favorite record label. I’ll always prefer the warmth of traditional instruments over digitalized beats and electronic orchestrations, but Aqueduct was an early nudge toward abandoning my luddite-defined tastes and a significant first stop in developing a taste for more unconventional music. I owe such a fruitful introduction to the good luck of starting with this track that, despite dropping little bombs of piercing insight like “Whenever you’re home you’re never really home”—a sentiment that hit College Me squarely in the heart—and “You’ll be crushing my soul / And won’t be paying me back” and “I’ve been living in a fantasy / Just trying to get it right,” sounds like summertime and driving around with the windows down and volume up and a nostalgia-fueled good time freed from the shackles of confused heartache and growing older just long enough to rock out for three-and-a-half needfully cathartic and gleefully indulgent minutes of better escapism through those rare gems of songs with a practically palpable presence.