Where Do We Go Now?

Dearest Rachel –

For all the mixtapes we sent back-and-forth during the long distance portion of our courtship, neither of us were really on top of the popular music of the day. Most of your stuff came from your parents’ collection that you listened to and liked; if you wanted something more recent, you’d record it off the radio. I wasn’t much more into ‘the current thing’ myself; having a tendency to believe what was popular at the time was by definition likely crap, my preferences ran towards older music (which, as often as not, I would obtain from the local library) or Christian rock (which I’d only gotten into in my last year or two of high school, so I wasn’t particularly discerning about yet).

As a result, neither of us was familiar with Guns N’Roses (well, I’m sure we were aware of the group – I know I had peers who would show up to class wearing their concert T-shirts, among so many other similar groups that were popular at the time, so I assume the same of you, at least by college – but their actual output would have been as foreign to us as if we were to listen to BTS or AKB48), nor would we have thought to include their music in our communications to each other then.

And to be fair, upon reading the lyrics of their most iconic song, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” – despite understanding that they were written about Axl Rose’s then-girlfriend Erin Everly – they don’t fit the two of us very well; not then in particular, but not now, either. Oh, it might be true that “I’d hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain,” but there weren’t any aspects of you that would remind me of a better, safer, happier time in my youth, or something like that. At best, you had a youthfulness that I never had myself, which while it was too late for me to cultivate, was refreshing to have at my side; but that’s not really the same thing.

What does strike me upon listening to it now is the bridge, and in some ways, how it came to be there. The way I’d heard the story, the group, while more than able to make music onstage and in the studio, weren’t particularly harmonious in real life, and didn’t speak to each other at times. Thus, in their first take at recording, when they got to the bridge, none of them were aware of how they were supposed to finish song. Slash, the lead guitarist, called out to Rose, “Where do we go now?” Rose, equally unsure about the next part of the song, assumed Slash was feeding him the next line of the song, and actually sang “Where do we go? Where do we go now?” several times before returning to the refrain and wrapping up the take. Upon listening to the take, their producer liked what they did with it, suggesting a little fine-tuning before calling it good and recording a final take of it.

The truth turns out to be a little more pedestrian – and my recollection of disharmony within the band was over-exaggerated. It was the producer, Spencer Proffer, that recommended a turnaround, which wasn’t a part of their first takes at all. As they listened to their original recordings on a repeating loop in order to get some kind of inspiration, it was Rose who kept asking “Where do we go? Where do we go now?” which Proffer actually liked and instructed them to add to the track. Either way, it’s weird how these things happen, though.

And it’s equally weird how relatable that spontaneous question turns out to be. No, it has nothing to do with us, but it’s one I find myself asking myself all too often these days, albeit in a much less melodious fashion (or maybe I’d sound every bit as good with that much music behind me; I don’t know). It’s particularly ironic, since at the moment, I’m busy telling stories to people of my recent past – that’s what they find interesting, after all, which is understandable – while inside, I’m busily agonizing over my long-term future.

We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives.

The Amazing Criswell, from “Plan 9 from Outer Space” (1959)

But I’m as lost about where to go from here as Axl Rose and the band were about how to turn their song around. Unlike them, however, I’m not about to find a solution just by repeating the question over and over until I can just return to the chorus. Life, like history, may indeed rhyme, but it’s not likely to resolve itself over a four-minute song.

And with that having been said, I suppose there’s nothing for me to do at the moment but to ask you to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it, after all.