The Bolt

This was purely a "working class" pub. It was situated on native reserve land, just a mile from a large winery, and was directly across the road from a trailer park that had seen better days. But I loved the place - in 1990 and 1991, this place was home. I was single and felt alive and free. I chose to work in Tapper's because the people were genuine, the beer flowed freely (drinking on the job was quite encouraged), the work was terribly fun, and it was only a five minute drive from my house.

Tim and Jan, the owners, gave me free reign on the music selection, only coming up to the DJ booth every once in a while to make music requests of their own. The crowd really got into my music, and that overly small dance floor was packed every Friday and Saturday night. The pool league and dart league were always active, and Tim even held contests like "coconut bowling" that kept the place exciting.

I still remember the bartender's names: Kim, Darren, Carol, Cheryl and Liona. Don't ask how I remember those names when I can't even remember what I had for supper last week, I have no clue.

Every once in a while I would play a song that struck a chord with someone else, bringing up emotions and memories that were purely their own. Of course that's the whole point of this category my life is a stereo: how songs affect me and what they remind me of. However, it's interesting to me when I'm exposed to that in other people.

This particular evening in Tapper's was no different from any Friday before it or any Friday to follow, except for one thing: I decided to play R.E.M.'s song Losing My Religion. You might think that with the song's runaway popularity I would have been playing it at least once every week or two, but no I hadn't. It just wasn't a feel good bar song, and one certainly wouldn't dance to it (unless one was trying to impersonate Michael Stipe's spastic video dance).

While Losing My Religion was on, I was sitting at the bar nursing a drink of Scotch and Drambuie (a "rusty nail"). I looked over at the bartender who was on that night, Liona, and she was absolutely not in this world. She was gone. She was off somewhere distant in her mind, lost in a memory. I've felt that myself, and I'm sure that most people can get into that state of mind when they're alone, but this was really the first time that I had literally watched someone zone out right in front of me.

When the song was over, Liona snapped back to reality, looked at me and said with much more graveness than the moment would have normally deserved, "Thank you so much for playing that song. Good choice. I really liked it." And off she went, back to work, serving drinks - although, I had the feeling that she remained changed.

Now I'm no song interpretation genius at the best of times, but in particular that song has always perplexed me with its meaning. It sounds like such a deep song, and I'm sure that to this day I'm missing something in it. I looked up its entry on SongFacts.com and became slightly more enlightened. In particular, one reader's comments stand out for me:

That's a stretch from what most people read into the song, and strays from what the songwriter says the song means, but honestly I can buy it. I can fully believe that Liona wasn't remembering "losing her temper", but rather a love gone wrong. Coupled with the fact that she was divorced, looking back now I can almost see the scene running through her head.

In the end, I was just happy that night to have been able to give someone else the chance to feel alive, to truly stretch out from the daily grind of life and feel something - anything - that was real.