Yesterday* my sister turned 31.
But she still is a 14 years old girl to me, at a time when she was mad about Pearl Jam, Blur and so-called 90s alternative music.
I supposed it's so common for older brothers to see their younger sisters like... they were eternally framed in their teenage years; and I presume I'd feel the same even if she turned 40, or got married or spawned noisy creatures called "nephews".
But I arrogantly think my case is even more serious, and that's because so many memories of my "90s in music" are closely related to her: all those records we listened to together, all those VHS tapes as mementos of all the music videos and TV programmes we watched together, all those gigs of unknown local bands we went to...
We shared happy and unforgettable moments like that festival in 1999 (where Courney Love ordered the security staff to get rid of the "fan" who throwed a bottle on stage during Hole' set, and where Butch Vig had been only a spit's throw from me), as well as dreary ones, like the day Kurt Cobain egoistically resolved he would leave us orphans.
So many things changed since then (and how changed we are...).
(The words "The End" on the screen, melancholic violins, end credits.
This oh-so-personal post is finally over)
Yesterday* I went to my parents' house to celebrate her birthday altogether, and I secretly took a picture (see above) of two records from her collection.
The one on the left is a (rare?) 10inch vinyl copy of Juliana Hatfield's "My sister" I bought ages ago in London and gave to her as a present (one of my favourite song ever, for the record). I thought it couldn't miss from this post.
The CD on the left is 1996 "This world and body" by british band Marion. I remember she loved that album so much.
Pretty nice song indeed.
"Our" song. Sort of.
(*: the 6th)
Marion - Sleep (1995)