In the summer of 1997 after I graduated from high school, I delivered pizzas for Pizza Hut. It wasn’t a great job, but it really wasn’t that bad of one either, as it gave me plenty of time to drive around town (the cultural mecca that is Midland, Texas) and listen to music. I’d check into the back, fold some pizza boxes for a few minutes, gather a handful of deliveries, and then tear off into the evening with the stereo blaring. And I’d deliver pizzas across the sprawl of the dusty old berg, to a junior high slumber party in a big house in the wealthy area of town, or to a couple of stoners in a dilapidated apartment, or to a nice family in a small, quaint home, or to high school kids, single moms, divorcees, summer ball little league teams, businessmen, engineers, art teachers, and sad old drunks. Once, I delivered a pizza to a Mexican roustabout living in a house on the outskirts of town where the city ends and there’s nothing but farms, ranchland, and desert for as far as the eye can see. He invited me in for a beer. I accepted. And then back on the road again, shuffling through my CD case for the evening’s next audio accompaniment.
My selections generally consisted of the usual ‘90s fare, alt-rock and Britpop and industrial noise, metal and hip-hop and first wave throwbacks (it was very, very tempting to rhyme something there). One of the songs that played in heavy rotation for me at the time was the alt-rock/power pop jam “Drawer” from the California band Summercamp, an underappreciated little gem that will forever be one of those little time capsule songs for me. Memory in stereo.
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