#8: Freddie
I am easily moved by the smallest of things. Little gestures from coincidental forces. A TV show character with whom I identify wearing the very same H&M jacket I bought at half price in 2013. A perfect green leaf falling into my open hands while I sit out back. I wouldn’t exactly count myself a believer in what I’ve seen called “the universe” and the things it may or may not be telling us—I’m not usually looking for guidance or hoping for a sign or even listening to whatever higher power might be doing the telling. But there’s a certain moment of connection, collision with the rest of the world that just feels good when it happens. The moment of recognition—“hey, I have that hoodie,” that feeling of your hand closing around something green and alive now resting gently in your palm. The smile. This is the shit I live for.
I got a new bike a few weeks ago. My last one had been stolen from our back porch over a year ago, my promise to myself to find a new one the following spring thwarted by the beginning of the pandemic. I am not a particularly active person—I mean, I walk my dog every day and we do little sprints up and down the streets of my neighborhood to get his energy out, but I wouldn’t exactly call that dedicated exercise—so it was not my natural inclination to get back on the road as soon as possible, especially during the cold months.
But once the days started getting reliably warmer, it became hard to deny that I missed riding around the city, cruising down the bike lane on Pennsylvania Ave., the museum to my right in a little cloud of green shrubbery and the center city skyline looming in front of me. Being pretty much stuck inside for the entirety of last year’s warm months made me feel restless about these coming spring days. Things are distinctly not back to normal yet, and I think we’ve still got quite a bit of time to go before they are, but if there’s a way to not feel totally rooted to one spot now that the ice has melted, even if it’s illusory, I’ll take it.
So, since I have zero functionally working knowledge of bikes, Danielle walked down to the bike shop with me a few weeks ago and I ended up with a very modest red fixed-gear bike. I am personally very happy that it’s fixed-gear and here’s why—before finding the red guy, I tried out a very nice light blue bike that had two gear shifts, one on either handle. Two. They did different things. I rode the bike and liked it a lot, but I asked Danielle to explain the two gear shifts to me and she did, for like ten minutes, and then I rode it again and tried to test out my new knowledge. I shifted a couple times on my ride and not once did the bike behave the way I expected it to. My legs were spinning rapidly when I thought they’d pedal patiently; they slogged through mud when I thought they’d….pedal patiently. Look, I know this is ridiculous and I could figure it out eventually but I also just don’t need all that. I’m not biking across Mount Everest or some shit. Just trying to make zoom sounds around the block.
Anyway, I got a bike and well it doesn’t matter why but I named him Freddie and I’ve really enjoyed riding around the last few weeks. Most of what I have done is ride to the library and the bookstore, not very far in the grand scheme of things, but I haven’t been to either of those places at all in over a year. I particularly missed the library and although my experience is really not the same as it was before—I’m placing holds on books and just running in real quick to pick them up, no strolling up and down the aisles—I’m still really happy to have regained access to a tiny part of the city that had been closed off from us for so long.
The books that I’ve checked out so far are Kazuo Ishiguro’s A Pale View of Hills and Toni Cade Bambara’s short story collection Gorilla, My Love. I have found in the past that if I check out more than one book at a time, I’m not very likely to finish at least one of them. The last time I went to the library, I checked out both Lucy Ellmann’s Ducks, Newburyport and Don DeLillo’s Mao II (mini reviews for both of these can be found in previous installments here and here). This was a doomed endeavor from the start, considering how long Ducks, Newburyport was, and it was only because Covid suspended library returns for months that I ever got to Mao II.
I’m a little more focused if I take things one at a time, plus I get to make the short little journey on my bike more often this way. I ride over to the Free Library branch on Vine St. and pick up my hold, then ride around the corner to the little park by the Rodin Museum to read a quick chapter before I have to head back to my desk.
This is where we get back to that whole thing about being enamored with the little things. When I was getting toward the end of A Pale View of Hills, I found two separate check-out receipts stuck in the middle of a chapter at a key point in the book, when [SPOILER/CONTENT WARNING] an eccentric young girl watches her mother drown her pet kittens in a river, the kittens tying the young girl to her home in Japan while the mother plans to abruptly move to the US.
It’s a disturbing and crushing scene, and not one but two patrons of the Philadelphia Free Library chose to leave their mark there. Did they both read this passage and choose to abandon this book in the last 40 pages? Did they do a quick re-read before the book was due to consider the implications of the mother’s action? This is what’s so great about the library—suddenly, I feel connected to these strangers, strangers from my own community, in a fleeting, small way. And it doesn’t mean much, maybe, but it felt good then, and it feels good now to think about.
I found another check-out slip in Gorilla, My Love, a really fantastic collection that I can’t believe I hadn’t read before. I picked this book out based on a tweet from Gabriel Bump, whose novel Everywhere You Don’t Belong (also reviewed here) is one of my favorite debuts in recent memory. I can see how the sharpness of his characters and their dialogue, the subtle humor and striking reality that they evoke in so few words, was influenced by Bambara, especially when we’re talking about the point of view of the children in their fiction.
I read about how Bambara spent her last years in Philadelphia, making documentaries about key events and people from the city’s history (like the infuriating and horrifying attack on the MOVE headquarters in West Philly by the police in 1985) and teaching script writing. I’m thinking about the other people who checked out Gorilla, My Love and how they might have also looked up Bambara’s connection to the city, how they may have also found a nice place under a tree in a public park to dive in after leaving the lobby with their loaned book.
I’ve lived in this city for five years now, but I’ll say it’s been hard to feel connected to a place at all during the pandemic. When I haven’t seen many of my local friends in over a year. When I tend not to say much to strangers on the street who may be passing by, trying to limit interaction as much as is possible and polite. When I rarely leave my neighborhood. But getting back on my bike has helped make this feel a little more like home again. Seeing some of the sights from familiar but fresh angles. Accessing some of my favorite spots again, even if it’s not quite the same as it was. Holding the same books in my hands as my neighbors, strangers I know nothing about but have an ephemeral chance to feel close to.
I am taking a brief pause from library books to read my copy of the recently released A Little Devil in America by Hanif Abdurraqib, but I hope to continue my little rituals once my next hold is ready to be picked up on Vine St. But before I returned both of my recent books, I stuck my check-out slip in the same crevices where I found the thin receipts from the other Philly strangers, and when I slid them down the return chute I thought to myself yeah this is the shit I live for.
Before I go, a few songs and records that are perfect for riding around the city on a modest, red fixed-gear bike:
Somos — Temple of Plenty (tracks 1 through 4)
I think I am in the minority here, but I think that everything Somos did after Temple of Plenty is a million times more interesting and exciting. I was really confused when First Day Back didn’t really seem to catch on—it’s certainly a transition album, but they added so many interesting elements to their sound, and I really think it’s such a graceful evolution from the more standard pop-punk of this record. Plus I would count “Lifted From The Current” among my favorite songs ever.
My problem with Temple of Plenty is that I think it gets a little rote by the end. After a few songs, I’ve kind of had enough. But those first three songs, they really fucking work. When “Familiar Theme” takes off as I start to really get going south down 27th St...it’s a real rush. It takes about three or four songs to get to the library, and if I still want that feeling on the way home...I just restart it and listen to those four songs again.
Mannequin Pussy — “Control”
Speaking of feeling connected to Philly, Mannequin Pussy was the first band I saw after I moved to the city for good (opening for Chastity Belt at Everybody Hits, RIP), and I’ve been enthralled ever since. “Control” actually sounds a little like Chastity Belt at the beginning before bursting into a fuzzy pop-punk anthem. It’s immediately one of my favorite songs from this band—one day I just put it on repeat on the ride through Fairmount headed home.
Mannequin Pussy — Patience
Another time, I let “Control” play right into Patience, and it was perfect. One fun thing about MP being a local band is that Patience posters appeared all over my neighborhood around the time the record came out, and remnants of them stayed glued to random walls for over a year. I loved it. “Patience” into “Drunk II” remains one of the best thrills I’ve gotten from punk music in the past few years, and it really keeps me motivated as I struggle through the uphill ride home.
Parannoul — “Excuse” and “Analog Sentimentality”
This band has been getting hyped for the past few weeks and they really should be. This record is a surprise hit for me and the album art is my new desktop background. These two songs especially rock when I get up from under the tree in the park to get back to home and work. “Excuse” sounds like A City by The Light Divided, not enough people are talking about this. And not enough songs sound like A City by The Light Divided.
A Great Big Pile of Leaves — You’re Always On My Mind
Spring! It’s spring! There’s nothing better than this record during a mild spring day. Pure, blissful indie rock.
I never send these out on new music release days! I’m really looking forward to listening to the new record from Spirit of the Beehive (also a Philly band) that comes out today. One of the most relentlessly creative bands out there right now, I’ve been listening to their last record Hypnic Jerks a whole lot the last few months. This should be on your radar today, so I’ll leave you with this:
See ya next time, thanks for reading.
My name is Jordy Walsh, and I’m a writer based in Philadelphia. I write about music for The Alternative and Slant Magazine. I Keep a Diary is a newsletter about music, books, writing, and probably a lot of vague emotions. You can follow me on Twitter for more thoughts on all that stuff and also a lot of pictures of my dog. Thanks for joining me.