Imaginary conversations with American singer/songwriter Rob Thomas

girl fantasizing about a rock star

Not to be confused with American producer/director Rob Thomas

First and foremost: many, many thanks to both the Rob Thomases for the season two finale of iZombie. That was hands down the finest however many minutes of television I have ever watched. You two are delightful.

Speaking of tv shows, there’s one on Fox called the Great North. It’s one of those cartoons for grown-ups like Bob’s Burgers and Archer, but…nice. Wholesome. But it stars Jenny Slate and the guy who was Ron Swanson in Parks and Rec, so it’s still kind of weird, too.

Anyway, the main character in the cartoon is this sixteen-year-old girl named Judy Tobin. And in almost every episode, Judy climbs out on the roof of her house and has a conversation with Imaginary Best Friend Canadian Singer/Songwriter Alanis Morissette. This both amuses me and makes me uncomfortable, because I do that, too. Have since I was thirteen years old.

Well, sort of. I never climbed out on a roof to talk to Alanis Morissette, for all that I knew (and still know) every fucking word of Jagged Little Pill. I went out into the woods and talked to American Singer/Songwriter Rob Thomas, frontman1 for Matchbox 20. For basically my whole life. I still do it, actually.

I’ve been trying to write about how I feel about his music for months now. It’s this really INTENSE thing, and I’ve started four different versions that talk about four different albums in four different ways. This music is A LOT to me, is my point. Obviously, I’ve been having imaginary conversations with the guy who wrote it for nearly three decades.

The problem is, everything I’ve written has been…well, kind of embarrassing. It feels weird and awkward to have such strong feelings about a fucking song. Or even a bunch of songs.

Recently a new friend encouraged me to get on Instagram. I had an old account, but I only posted maybe half a dozen times. I find it strangely difficult to use. But there is some good content on there. Including a band page for Matchbox 20.

A while back, RT posted a video of himself commenting on a “unique” tattoo that said something like “I would rather be listening to Smooth by Santana” or some shit like that. And then he proceeds to talk about people who get undiscerning tattoos.

It was adorable and funny in a charmingly self-deprecating way.

As someone who has Matchbox 20 lyrics tattooed on my arms, I was amused, but also a little embarrassed. But then I started thinking. And then I started talking (in my head. To him. Because I’m a little Bent. But that’s okay)

It bothered me that you assume that a tattoo that honors your music is frivolous. My love for your music isn’t frivolous in any way.

We don’t need to worry about AI taking over the world because it can’t even figure out that humans only have two arms

Girl Like That is my song. I don’t mean it’s my favorite song. I mean that song is me. The three perspectives in those lyrics aren’t you, some girl, and the listener. The three perspectives in that song are me in the first person, me in the third person, and the entire fucking world.

I’m good at articulating things. But I can’t articulate the feeling I get between my shoulder blades when you scream “SHE’S SORRY.” Because I was. For so long. In every definition of the word. And when you sang those words, I would close my eyes and picture screaming into a canyon. And it gave me the strength to stand. Over and over.

You make me feel SEEN. It is not a small thing.

But if the reason I like your music is because you seem to understand what’s going on in my head, that means I probably have a damn good idea what’s going on inside of yours.

I think it embarrasses YOU how much your music means to me. And that’s just hilarious.

Your role in my life has always been the feelings guy. You are the keeper of my heart and all that is soft and vulnerable inside of me.

The thing I loved about Matchbox 20 all those years ago was how hopeful the songs were. There was a pervasive insistence that everything would be okay one day if only we kept moving forward. A tiny kernel of joy buried in the darkness, just waiting to grow and bloom.

When you went solo, I got defensive. The “fans” bitching about how you “sold out” and “became pop” pissed me off to no end. Just ask my husband how many times he’s had to listen to me rant about how growth is the point of art. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if your first album and your last album sound exactly the same you’re doing it wrong. Picasso didn’t paint the same shit every day. Why should musicians write the same song repeatedly?

I bought all your solo albums. I didn’t listen to them though.

They really are mushy, man.

I mean, that’s what makes them great. That’s what makes you great. You take the feelings out of my head, look at them from all angles, then write about them in a way I can understand. I wish I could write about feelings.

I can sort of write about feelings. I’m great at anger, frustration, indignation, etc. Nobody does “how fucking dare you” with the sweetest of smiles quite like a public defender. You gotta know how to call a cop an asshole while still kissing the cop’s ass, because judges don’t like it when you call cops assholes.

But I can’t write about soft feelings. I can barely even admit I have soft feelings.

I need to work on that if I’m going to write the book I want to write. And you’re going to teach me.

First of all, I’m going to listen to all those damn solo albums.

Then, I’m going to write all of the imaginary conversations, about all of the feelings about all of the songs past and present and future. Some of them will have to go behind the paywall because we had some really bad nights together.

It’s going to be embarrassing. Apparently for both of us. But that’s okay.

Because I firmly believe that talking about feelings is a good thing. And somehow knowing that good feelings can make you feel uncomfortable, after all those years and all those songs and all those screaming fans, that makes it easier for me to face mine. Feelings, not fans. There’s only a couple dozen people listening to me, not millions.

Thank god. If I thought millions of people were going to read this I would vomit.

I just can’t shake the conviction that everything is connected. That part of the reason you wrote those songs was to save me so I could go on and help others in return.

I believe part of why Americans have so many issues with violence, anxiety, and depression is because we are all so isolated, in spite of the constant connection. Our government wants it that way. Our entire socio-economic system depends on a “me first” mentality. From the moment we are born, we are pitted against each other, always ranked, always competing for a number on a piece of paper. First grades, then dollars.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s meant to be. America is all about individuality. About being unique.

But looking inside, we’re the same.

Humans are pack animals. It’s just biology. We thrive in community. United, we stand. I BELIEVE that. So I cannot figure out why the fuck this country, which is supposedly based on that idea, is so damned determined to make its citizens believe it’s wrong to rely on each other?

Your songs made me feel like I wasn’t alone. And that saved my life. Literally. It’s not a small thing.

Maybe my blog can make someone feel like they aren’t alone.

I can stand a little embarrassment for that.

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  1. Is this one word? Two words? Is it hyphenated? Whatever, he’s the lead singer. ↩︎
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