If the quintessential reunion experience could be captured metaphorically by a famous (or infamous) novel, I’d have to point to War and Peace, by Tolstoy; our personal history—mighty and insignificant-all in one sweeping evening of epic romance, drama, conflict and survival. If we’re talking the 80’s, of course it must be film, and would therefore be, Pretty in Pink meets The Breakfast Club. Bad hair, bad boys, bad acne, bad grades, and bad teachers, all tied together in a pretty pink bow of good memories. I wonder what F. Scott Fitzgerald might have said about reunions, being that he loathed status and above all else believed the underdog should always win the day. I know what Nick Carraw

A week ago, I fell in love with new music for the first time since I stole my brother’s worn copy of Led Zeppelin’s Song Remains the Same album. I was fourteen and was smitten. Recently, a friend who road manages (I love his life), texted me, said he’d be in town with a new project at Marilyn’s on K Street, said he’d put me on the list—Tracy plus one. Normally, I avoid club bands I’ve never heard of, because they’re a dime a dozen and the best you can hope for is good in a sea of mediocre. But my LA pal is cool and has good taste, so I said why not. I wasn’t there five minutes, settling into a cush-backed chair, sipping refreshing water with bubbles, when they began to wail, and I felt tha