My Gen X Playlist: Hey Jack Kerouac – 10,000 Maniacs

When I was in high school, I found a box of old books in the garage. There was a yellow paged, worn paperback that caught my eye. It was John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, In Search of America.

Travels with Charley: In Search of America is a novelistic travelogue written by American writer John Steinbeck, published in 1962. Charley, a standard poodle, was Steinbeck’s companion as they travelled around America by road in a camper named Rocinante, after Don Quixote’s horse. The main reason behind the journey was to find answers to the questions Steinbeck had about his country, such as what Americans of his day were like. The journey began in Long Island, New York, passed through California, and looped back to New York, covering nearly ten thousand miles. The book is divided into four parts, all of which explore in-depth the areas Steinbeck and Charley passed through, providing an account of the sights, the locals and the socio-economic situation encountered at each stop. 

– sparknotes

I’ve read this book maybe three or four times, in between high school and graduating college. I’ve always been interested in seeing what was out there and meeting the different pockets of people that make up Americans. I was attracted to the romantic notion of Steinbeck’s road trip through the everyday towns, meeting the everyday people. I’ve forgotten much of the book, it’s been over thirty years since I’ve read it. What I did keep was the feeling of wanting to be out on the road. Wanting an adventure. Maybe that desire is heightened when comparing it to the day to day slog of everyday life sometimes. The allure and pull seems that much stronger. I do see a correlation of when my life was toughest and the number of travel literature books that I’ve read. The numbers don’t lie. And even if I don’t physically journey out on these adventures, these books still take me there, out on the road. I’m just not hitching a camper or have a dog with me as a companion. In my mind, I’m on the road.

I’ve read a lot of travel literature over the years and it never dawned on me until now that this was the first one I ever read. The book was lost in the many moves over the years. It’s worth picking up another copy for a long awaited read. Steinbeck. Charley. Rocinante. Looking forward to the reunion.

When I think of wanderers, Jack Kerouac comes to mind. Admittedly, I never read On the Road and maybe that should be added to my reading list. Nevertheless, 10,000 Maniac’s Hey Jack Kerouac makes the playlist today. As I perused background of the song, look what I found.

Do you remember where you were when you first heard of your favorite author?

I do, because it was “Hey Jack Kerouac” by the 10,000 Maniacs that introduced me to him, even though I didn’t realize at the time who he was, and what he would come to mean to me.

I found “In My Tribe” on vinyl in a bargain box at the local pawn shop where I was the only customer who ever rummaged through their ever increasing corner of “junk” records. I think I paid 99 cents, with no tax because the guy behind the counter couldn’t be bothered to figure out the math.

. . . “Hey Jack Kerouac” was a mystery to me… who was Jack Kerouac? Who is Billy? Who is “Allen baby” and why is he sad the boys grew up and their beauty faded? Which boys? Why were they howling at night? Why did Jack leave without saying good bye?

. . . So it wasn’t until my freshman year of college that I finally learned the answers to all the above, leading immediately to an insatiable campaign to devour every piece of writing by Jack, Billy, and Allen. Yes, I too thought of them by first name now because my vicarious insistence on digesting every aspect of their lives, made me feel as if I knew them personally— I had been there with them through it all, side-by-side on all their adventures.

I became cliché and read “On The Road” for the third or fourth time while sitting on a train from somewhere to somewhere in Europe. I made my pilgrimage to City Lights. I read about William Burroughs and his drug addled hallucinations in Mexico, I read how Ginsberg saw the best minds of his generation succumb to madness, hysterical and naked. I read it all.

– forgottenfavorite

I wonder if it’s a coincidence that I found this exact excerpt after adding the song today. A music fan’s wandering interest fueled by curiosity of this very song. Something tells me I should listen to the universe and allow my curiosity to follow in his footsteps.

–

For a complete playlist, please click here.

For the Spotify playlist, please click here.

Hey Jack Kerouac, I think of your mother 
and the tears she cried, they were cried for none other 
than her little boy lost in our little world that hated 
and that dared to drag him down, her little boy courageous.
who chose his words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood. 
Hip flask slinging madman, steaming cafe flirts.
they all spoke through you. 

Hey Jack, now for the tricky part, 
when you were the brightest star, who were the shadows? 
Of the San Francisco beat boys you were the favorite. 
Now they sit and rattle their bones and think of their blood stoned days. 
You chose your words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood. 
The hip flask slinging madman, steaming cafe flirts, 
in Chinatown howling at night. 

Allen baby, why so jaded? 
Have the boys all grown up and their beauty faded? 
Billy, what a saint they've made you, 
just like Mary down in Mexico on All Souls' Day. 

You chose your words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood. 
Cool junk booting madmen, street minded girls 
in Harlem, howling at night. 
What a tear stained shock of the world, 
you've gone away without saying goodbye.