I don’t like the Dave Matthews Band, and that’s OK.
I wake up every morning, look into the mirror and repeat that phrase until I feel better.
I don’t like the Dave Matthews Band, and that’s OK.
I take my shower humming Duncan Sheik, Elliott Smith or James Iha, preparing myself for the day I have to face as a Dave-hater. I take about 10 minutes trying to figure out what to wear to make me blend in as much as possible so people don’t single me out and stare, point or anything worse.
Usually it works. I throw on blue jeans and a benign T-shirt, rustle my hair into the conservative/messy look, sling my book bag over one shoulder and head out.
I live a normal life, I swear. I just don’t like the Dave Matthews Band.
And that’s OK.
Most of the time the facade works. I can fake myself as a devout college student who thinks Dave is the second-coming of Lennon, LeRoi is Charlie Parker reincarnated and Boyd is the best violinist since Poindexter of “Revenge of the Nerds” fame. I don’t believe it, but as long as the Dave Matthews army doesn’t recognize me, I can slip by.
Sometimes it doesn’t work. They’ll ask if I watched TRL to see the new single “I Did It” premiere. I can’t lie. I quietly say, “Um, I’m not a Dave Matthews fan.” I think to myself, “and that’s OK.”
There’s always that sound of breath being drawn quickly through a tight throat, usually followed by a moment of silence. I know what’s coming.
There’s a Bible salesman living inside everyone. It takes different things to make him stand up and take charge. For some, it’s mentioning I don’t like cheese. For others, saying I used to only wear corduroy pants and swore off blue jeans for years. For most, it’s the Dave-hater thing.
The missionary is unleashed, and no matter how much that person loves Dave Matthews, their passion for his music quadruples as their Dave-defensiveness kicks in.
“The music is so inspiring …” “Dave writes the most complicated, yet delightfully accessible, tunes …” “The band is the greatest assemblage of skillful musicians within the universe and probably beyond …”
They try to force their foot inside the doorjamb; they don’t even ask if they can come in. They just burst through, handcuffing themselves to my couch.
I try to retaliate. “But there’s a lot of bands out there that I like, I just don’t happen to find the value in Dave Matthews that everyone else does,” I say, “and that’s OK.”
But this just makes their mission greater. They need to save my soul. I must invite Dave into my life or suffer the eternal consequences.
I try, “I think it’s great that you like Dave Matthews; every band needs fans. I’m a Pumpkins fan. I love Mercury Rev. That doesn’t mean everyone else has to.”
It’s not good enough.
They start to bring out the big guns, telling me sentimental stories about how the music changed their life. About how they gave birth to triplets at a Dave Matthews concert. About how their little brother’s Make-A-Wish trip was to meet Dave Matthews, and when Dave saw him in his wheelchair with oxygen being pumped into his nose, he touched the little brother on the head and told him to stand, and about how the boy stood up, took off the oxygen and went on to play for the 49ers.
I should just give up. I should accept defeat and force my square peg into the Dave Matthews hole, but they say that when you stop fighting, you stop living.
“Wow. That’s a really touching story, but I just don’t have that kind of connection with the Dave Matthews Band.” I mutter to myself, “and that’s OK.”
What happens next always happens. It happens with Metallica fans, it happens with Michael Jackson fans (which are now nationally recognized as an endangered species) and it happens with Dave fans. The Bible salesman scoots over, and the inner-crack dealer takes the wheel.
“Have you listened to a whole album straight through?” “Have you heard their cover of ‘All Along the Watchtower’?” “Once you listen to Live at Red Rocks, you will be hooked. Just give it one try. I’ll loan you my copy for the day, but I need it back so I can fall asleep tonight.”
There’s no stopping them. I have constructed complicated schemes to change the subject and weasel out of the conversation because there’s little hope in getting the DMB Army to loosen their grip and accept that I might not belong to the Dave Matthews Band fraternity.
I go home lonely from these melees, tired from the self-doubt and defensiveness. I sometimes can’t sleep because I wonder what’s wrong with me. Why am I such a freak?
I cry sometimes.
And when I’m done, I approach the mirror.
I stare deep into my red eyes and say to myself, “I don’t like the Dave Matthews Band, and that’s OK.”
Copyright Daily Nebraskan Online