Penny Lane (non-fiction assignment)

12-18–18

Penny Lane

I.

When I was in middle school, I was obsessed with a show on Nickelodeon called Victorious. I don’t remember the exact moment this obsession happened or even why, but I have a feeling that it had to do with a certain dumb-witted character who went by the name of Cat Valentine. It had only been a few episodes before my brain had decided that it resonated with her. Her hair was died so that it matched to that of a red velvet cupcake, as she liked to claim, and her voice was high and sweet. Middle school was a plethora of embarrassing moments, but probably one of the most embarrassing moments is the fact I became so obsessed with this character that I tried to imitate her airy voice. Let’s just say, I found out very quickly that I wasn’t good at impressions.

Not only did I imitate her speaking voice, but I tried to imitate her singing voice. During an episode of the show, she sang at a karaoke bar and I remember my jaw dropping. I had always heard of people saying that a certain singer would give them goosebumps or chills or whatever they liked to call it, but I had never felt that before. At least, not until I heard the girl sing. I was left in wanting more of that feeling, those goosebumps, so I did what was becoming natural to middle schoolers during that time; I looked her up on YouTube.

YouTube was at its prime at that point. Everyone was trying to be the next Justin Bieber or Shane Dawson; trying to get their big break. So, I figured that it wouldn’t be a small chance that this girl had an account of her own if she was on a Nickelodeon show, and sure enough, I was right (which made me feel like a genius). Her face was the first thing that popped up under a title of “If I Ain’t Got You” (Alicia Keys Cover). I clicked on it and fell in awe all over again. I wondered how I haven’t heard of her before and why she wasn’t famous yet. I spent hours digging through her channel, watching some of the videos over and over again. I took note of her name, Ariana Grande, and soon, I became not only obsessed with her character on the show, but I became obsessed with her as well. I watched her videos everyday, wondering why I couldn’t sing like her, wishing I could sing like her. And then, it dawned on me one day; Who said I couldn’t sing?

Genetics, actually, but I didn’t pay attention to that. I thought that even though my family had no traces of musical ability in our blood, maybe it passed on to me somehow. It didn’t, not at first anyhow, but that didn’t stop me from trying to imitate Ariana Grande. I spent hours trying to sing as good as she could, imitating every little pronunciation she did. I had no idea what I was doing, and I wasn’t the greatest, but all I knew is that I really enjoyed it. I gained a sudden obsession of music at that point. I picked up Piano at that point too, suddenly remembering the keyboard that my grandma had bought my sister and I years ago that I had only payed attention to about once or twice, plunking random keys that I thought sounded pretty great (it didn’t).

I not only became obsessed with it, but I fell in love with music and I gathered up the courage to ask my mom if I could take piano lessons. I don’t know why I was so nervous to ask her. Perhaps it was because I had been through my fair share of music lessons before, violin, guitar, drums, and only sticking with them for about a year at the most. She agreed without hesitation, much to my surprise, and took the time to research different places because of my said ability to move on to something else in a matter of seconds. And that’s how we found The School of Rock.

II.

I was scared of rock music as a kid. There was this certain image that upheld with it. Leather jackets, chains around necks, piercings. I was scared of that. I fell into the trap of thought and believed that because you wore all black you were somehow devilish. This is probably because I was only twelve and naive and wore bright colors and had morals. I even went through a phase in seventh grade where I wore floral skirts every single day. I liked lace and staying away from things I deemed as bad. So, when I met Adam Krier, I was a bit taken back.

Adam Krier was the epitome of a rockstar. He wore everything I was afraid of. The color black, a piercing on his nose, chains around his neck. I had looked to my mom when he came down the stairs and introduced himself as my new piano teacher. I wondered if she could read my mind, I don’t want him to be my piano teacher, He’s terrifying, but she didn’t even seem to be concerned one bit and introduced herself as if he were anyone else. And with the introductions out of the way, we were off to what would be our first lesson out of thousands.

I learned rather quickly, that Adam seemed to have perfect pitch. He could listen to any song in the world and figure out the exact notes within a 45 minute lesson. We’d be working on a song, maybe by the Rolling Stones or Queen, and he’d tell me to switch chairs so that he could sit at the piano and would plug in his phone into the stereo. I would watch from my chair as Adam would play and listen, pausing and repeating a phrase over again until he got it just right.

I always wondered how he did that until later down the road when he taught me some of his “tricks” which in actuality, was simply relative pitch. Adam explained to me that certain inversions, the amount of space between two notes, sounded like songs I already knew. For example, a perfect 5th sounded like the beginning of Star Wars and a major second sounded like “Happy Birthday”. After he explained this to me, Adam would grab his guitar, and would test me by playing random inversions and have me guess them. When I would get them wrong, he’d shake his head with a sound that told me I was incorrect and would play the rest of the Star Wars theme if it were a perfect 5th or play a perfect 4th twice so that it sounded like The Wedding March and I’d be able to take back my answer.

When talking about inversions and chords one lesson, we had gotten on the subject of songs sounding the same.

“There’s only so many chord progressions out there” He had said before playing examples on the keyboard in front of him.

“I mean this is The Sweater Song by Weezer, right?” He questions me before playing the song we had worked on before, playing at a faster tempo and humming along. I nod my head in understanding before he switches to another song in a different key with the same chord progression. I have trouble placing my finger on what song it is, but I can hear the pattern he’s talking about.

“Let It Be, right? The Beatles,” he answers for me. I nod my head again, with a long “oh”, kicking myself mentally in the head for not knowing it.

“That’s why those lawsuits are tricky because there’s only so many progressions out there,”

III.

As part of a member at School of Rock, I performed at various venues in the city of Chicago, including Lincoln Hall and The Subterranean. These shows were through performance programs that you had to sign up for and each was themed. From The Rolling Stones to Weezer to Fleetwood Mac to Queen, I’ve lost track of just how many shows I’ve played since I was involved at The School of Rock for 5 years. Not only was I a part of the regular performance season, but I was also asked to join “House Band” which was by invite only or by audition. House Band was essentially a promotional tool. It had students that teachers and the manager felt embodied the spirit of School of Rock and was good with their instrument; designed to get more of a following and get more people to be involved at School of Rock.

You’d think that If I’d done all of these shows and was asked to join House Band without an audition, that I’d be this stellar performer with an eccentric stage presence and that I wasn’t afraid to put myself out there, right? Well, that’s not the case. Not at all. I actually didn’t even want to perform whatsoever in the first place. When I had first step foot in the School of Rock, I had only intended to take piano lessons. I knew they were known for their performance program, but there was no way I could ever step foot on a stage. I was this shy twelve year old who barely had enough courage to ask her mom if she could even take piano lessons.

What drove me to perform was a friend I had made at the School of Rock. Her name was Samira and if it wasn’t for her I would’ve never started my career there. We were hanging out in the lobby, both waiting for our instructors one day when she realized she had yet to sign up for this season’s show. She had asked me if I was was doing it too, to which I responded with a quiet “no”. She didn’t take that answer.

“Why not? You should! It’s a lot fun!” She explained. I didn’t respond, unsure how to, and then the receptionist at the desk who was in charge of sign-ups, chimed in too.

“It’s true! I’d listen to Samira!” She added. I let out a sigh of defeat. There wasn’t a way to leave the building now without signing up. I had to do it. And I did.

I was a nervous wreck the day of my first performance. It was on a Friday and I remember that because I had school that day and I couldn’t focus in any of my classes. I was too busy picturing myself failing on stage. We had numerous rehearsals before that night and I knew my parts incredibly well, but that didn’t stop me from thinking I was going to trip on stage or that everyone would notice me shake from fright.

I barely ate anything that day and when my parents and I got to the venue, all I wanted to do was stay with them. I didn’t want to try to socialize with anyone and I kept checking the time on my phone every single minute, wishing that call time would hurry up so that I could get it over with. Soon, it was time, and my mom and dad sent me off with a “good luck”.

I couldn’t sit still backstage. My hands were shaking like crazy and I paced back and fourth until it was time to go on. I was sick to my stomach and I kept picturing myself tripping on stage, all eyes staring at me. Finally, it was time to go on. I got the sudden urge to run away and go hide somewhere, but I knew I couldn’t do that. People were depending on me.

I managed to walk to the keyboard and kept my eyes on my feet the entire time, trying to ignore the fact that people were watching me. Suddenly, the drummer clicked off for us to start. My hands shook so much that the first few notes I played were incorrect and my heart felt like it was pounding out of my chest, but as the setlist went on, I began to calm down and focused on playing the right notes. Other School of Rock students in the audience cheered for us and reached out their hands to the singer as if they were at a real concert. I couldn’t help, but smile at the sight, and needless to say, even though I was incredibly nervous, once I got off stage, I knew that I never wanted to stop performing.

IV.

I had originally begun writing this essay by thinking about one of my all-time favorite movies-Almost Famous. In it, a teenager, William Miller, convinces an editor at rolling stone that he is older than he actually is and lands a gig writing about a fictional band called Stillwater. He goes on to meet Penny Lane, a groupie of Stillwater, though she detests the term “Groupie”. William quickly learns that when he first meets her outside of the venue after failing to enter. Defeated by the bouncer, William stands on the ramp outside the door, unsure of what to do next. A friend of Penny’s notices him and asks who he’s with to which he responds “I’m with myself” further showing his lack of experience as a journalist. The friend corrects him saying she meant which band he’s with. William goes on to say that he’s a journalist and that he’s not a groupie which grabs Penny’s attention.

She walks up to him, dressed in a white-laced crop top, jeans, her iconic 70s-style brown fur coat and accessorized in psychedelic blue sunglasses, and begins to argue his statement.

“We are not groupies. Groupies sleep with rock stars ‘cause they wanna be near someone famous. We are here because of the music. We are Band-Aids”

Penny gets distracted then, as her friend Sapphire shows up with backstages passes for the Band-Aids and ends up leaving William in all of the commotion. Later on, William gains access to the venue himself, reunites with Penny, and is able to finish his assignment for rolling sone. After the concert is over, William and Penny are walking up the ramp where Penny gives him her phone number. She goes on to say that she’s made the decision to live in Morocco for a year explaining that she “needs a new crowd”. Later in the movie, William asks her if she has any friends that aren’t famous and she explains that famous people are more interesting.

Throughout the movie, Penny brings up Morocco, one of these times saying that she and William should change their names and be completely different people while they’re there. This only adds to Penny’s mysterious character, as we never learn much about Penny Lane, not even her real name since Penny Lane is merely an alias. We don’t even know her age and she changes it to match William’s, even though he himself lies about his age with each answer.

I never really knew why it was one of my favorite movies or why Penny Lane grabbed my attention. My sister and my dad had always loved it and I think I knew that if I didn’t like it, they would be disappointed in me, so I claimed it as a favorite. I never even really understood what the movie was about. All I could gather was that a kid lands a gig and meets some cool people who make him feel cool himself. It wasn’t until I started writing this essay, however, that I realized why this movie was my favorite after someone pointed out a common theme between all of these moments and memories, they all deal with the idea of imitation.

My brain had subconsciously focused on the fact that I seem to be interested in things I can mimic in order to lose my own self. My favorite movie deals with characters who put up these different facades in order to seem more interesting. My favorite character as a middle schooler had a voice that I loved to copy because I couldn’t sing myself. My favorite music teacher played songs note for note and I was jealous of his ability to do so. This sudden realization about myself left me wondering one thing: Who was I then?

Before I left for college, my parents and I were sitting on the couch in the family room like we had done thousands of times before, except this time, I was holding my breath for the entirety of it; I wasn’t nervous, I wasn’t excited, I was merely just existing. And I felt guilty about it. Wasn’t I supposed to be nervous? My whole life was about to change. I’d be living on my own for the first time. Starting my whole life over again. I was excited to get a new life, be a different person, but what did it mean that I wasn’t nervous? Was my college experience going to be enough if I wasn’t nervous for it? Suddenly, my dad’s voice broke in between the sound of the TV and my thoughts.

“You don’t seem as nervous as Lexy did when she went off to college,” he observed. Lexy is my older sister. She always appeared to know exactly what she was doing and I was jealous of her for that.

“She was nervous?” I asked. I didn’t think she got nervous; Or if she did, she certainly wouldn’t show it.

“Oh, yeah. She was freaking out. But I think it’s because she always had trouble knowing who she was and she was worried about finding her place. You don’t seem to have that problem,” he explained. I hadn’t really thought of it when my dad made that observation about me because it was something I was used to hearing and I’ve heard it so many times that I made myself believe it was true. But when I look at it now, I know that it wasn’t. Everyone, and myself, only thought that because I had built a facade of my own.

V.

In a study done at the University of Sussex, a researcher observes musicians and their attitude towards influences from previous musicians. At one point, he brings up a quote saying “The influence of one artist upon another can take a wide variety of forms, from plagiarism, borrowing, and quotation all the way to imitation and eventually to the profound but almost invisible….” (Rosen, 1980).

My freshman year of college did not go as well as I had hoped. I didn’t experience what I thought I was going to; parties, friends, spontaneous adventures. Instead, I went to class, did homework and sat in my room, watching Netflix day after day after day. I would sit there and think about how I was a completely different person away at school then I was at home. I didn’t have piano lessons with Adam, who was my teacher for 5 years. I didn’t have my family to tell me what my favorite movie should be. I had become invisible. Everything that I mimicked was gone.

And to make it even worse, I think I skipped the profound part. The only thing that has come out of this sudden realization that I mimic everything is utmost confusion. Why did I have the instinct to mimic everything? What did losing myself in the process get me? Anxiety, actually, but that’s another story. I had always taken pride in myself for knowing who I was, which is another reason why I didn’t argue with my dad when he had observed that, so now that I know I actually have no clue who I am as a person, as cheesy as this sounds, my world was completely turned upside down.

VI.

A couple of weekends ago, I saw Bohemian Rhapsody. First, let me just say, that critics may be “professionals”, but they certainly don’t know what they’re talking about if they seriously gave the movie a low score. And second, it’s a brilliant movie and Freddie Mercury is the epitome of a legend.

During my time at School of Rock, I had learned plenty about Queen. One year, I had even done a camp that was solely based on the band. For weeks, we indulged ourselves in Queen and learned how to play the songs note for note. While I had gone through this, I didn’t know much about the band or Freddie Mercury himself before walking into the theatre. I had known of him of course and what a legend he really was, but I guess I never really understood why he was a legend, at least, not until I saw the movie, and if it’s one thing I took away from that movie, it’s that Freddie did whatever he wanted to and if people didn’t like it, then it’s their loss.

He really didn’t care that Bohemian Rhapsody was almost 6 minutes long and that it had an operatic section; it should still be played on the radio. He didn’t care that his real name was Farrokh Bulsara; he wanted to be called Freddie Mercury. He didn’t care if it were a man or a women; he loved both Mary Austin and Jim Hutton.

I became obsessed with Freddie Mercury after the movie. I read about him on Wikipedia, I watched his interviews and performances, I played Queen songs on repeat. I had thought about it on the car ride home from the theatre. Why did I like Freddie Mercury so much? And it took writing this essay to realize it; he was everything I longed to be. He did what he wanted to and literally strutted around on stage without a care. I, on the other-hand, did not. I walked on stage like some sort of timid cat. I worried about tripping flat on my face in the middle of the setlist. I worried about disappointing my family with my taste in films. I thought rock music and black clothing made you devilish because it was the opposite of what I wore and it was different than I what I was used to.

Freddy Mercury didn’t do these things. Neither did Penny Lane. Sure, they had their worries too, but they were free. They didn’t let their worries hold them back. Penny wanted to go to Morocco for a year? She went to Morocco. Freddy wanted to be called a new name? He changed his old one. Penny wanted to get backstage whenever she could? She found backstages passes. Freddy wanted to wear a sparkly leotard? He wore a sparkly leotard. Me? I let my worries hold me back. I wanted to play piano? Sure, but first I had to get the courage to even ask. I wanted to perform on stage? Of course, but I felt like I was going to throw up before I stepped on stage every time.

Perhaps that’s why I mimicked everyone, specifically musicians. I wanted to be more like them whether that was a conscious ambition or not. I wanted to be able to captivate a crowd. I wanted to sing like a legend. I wanted to stop shaking like there was an earthquake underneath my feet at all times. I wanted to make people believe that I wasn’t scared and didn’t think about every little thing.

In a way, I’m sort of like Penny Lane. While I may not be out trying to get backstage at concerts every weekend, though I wouldn’t mind if my worries weren’t there, and I wasn’t doing drugs, I too have this facade, much like an alias, of my own that I use to cover up my true feelings. If that’s truly the case then maybe I should take this whole mimicry a step further and just change my name to Penny Lane already. It might just give me my own version of Morocco.