Don't Tell Me My Love's Not The One That I Want

It's something that I don't say often, except about this particular CD: "I feel like this album was written for me." I said it only once before, sadly, in reference to Fall Out Boy's Under the Cork Tree album. Gawd, I know, that speaks VOLUMES about my musical preference in high school. I swear it's better now everybody. V can vouch, trust.

So when I was an intern at the now defunct 99X radio station in Atlanta, I, like all other interns in all other corporations, got access to THE CLOSET. For fashion interns, the closet is filled with clothing. For business interns, the closet is stocked with office supplies and paperwork. For kids slaving away in the entertainment world, I assume the closet is full of film reels, headshots, profiles, used syringes, and discarded one dollar bills. But for a wide eyed eager beaver devoting her energy to typing CD case labels, running mail, snapping shots for the website, stacking autographed posters, answering phones, and occasionally sleeping/eating her weight in vending machine goods/watching Seinfeld reruns in the break room, THE CLOSET is the compendium of musical goodness and history, the reserves of every album that was every played and will be played at the station in chronological order. I spent a good bit of my time in the closet (once I was there sorting CDs for six hours straight. I could not look at a Foo Fighters or Jane's Addiction record the same since), and while most of it was boring (put Rogue Wave in the R's, file Beck in B, stick Serge Gainsbourg in S, not G), I was rewarded handsomely. The deal was, remove any and all albums that had been in the closet for more than three months and put them in a box. After I finished, my boss would skim through and take out what he wanted and then I got to take whatever was left. Naturally, I got wise to the system and started getting clever. Hmmm, I don't have this Black Keys album...it's kinda old...and into the box it goes! My boss had an amazing collection of music, and we had varying tastes, so I usually got everything I wanted from the closet.

Among the free deliciousness was the Nicole Atkins record, Neptune City. The album came out back when I was still in the pussyfooting stage with my boyfriend. I had the pleasure of seeing Nicole Atkins when she opened up for the Pipettes last winter, and I remember just standing there in a crowd of about 200 people packed into a bar not fit for its occupancy level, mesmerized, because I felt like she was singing to me, for me, about me. But then the Pipettes came out and I spent the night dancing, getting touched by some creepy dude, and walking barefoot on the street because I lent my flats to my friend who was stupid enough to wear heels to a concert when she barely wore heels at all. Feelings and sentiments passed. Emails were sent out and an internship was secured.

My boss knew of my interest in Nicole Atkins. Queshes about said concert were asked and answered accordingly. Then I went digging in the closet, doing my internal duties (guhross!) and I found the Nicole Atkins album. Not one for sappy chick music, my boss let me take it, no arguments made.

I am almost embarrassed to admit that almost a year later, I have finally listened to the whole album. It is incredible. It speaks to me like few records ever do. I sing to it, cry to it, identify with it, and dance to it. You need to own it. Here, I'll help you.

Nicole Atkins: "Maybe Tonight"

Deuces,
Erika