High School Reunion

A fifty-year reunion is, by many accounts, a wonderful way to revive old friendships and jog the memory. And I could tell, the minute we arrived at the Hopkins Art Center, two hours late, that this kind of warm social interaction was in full swing. The lobby was packed, and the din of conversation was already considerable. It was clear that for many attendees, the anxieties and insecurities of youth were a thing of the past. The fact that beer and wine were included in the price of admission might also have contributed to the bonhomie of the occasion.

Many of the faces in the crowd looked to me like older, thicker, and more mature versions of the teenagers I went to high school with. I loved them all, but I didn't recognize any of them, undoubtedly because I didn't go to high school in Hopkins.

We threaded our way to the front desk to get our name tags, and the man behind the counter asked: "Lindberg or Eisenhower?"

 "Neither," I replied. "We're here to listen to the band."

Hopkins was a hotbed of rock-n-roll back in the mid-seventies. (Maybe every high school was?) At the time, Hilary's brother David was in a band called Seth that also included Steve Almaas (who went on to fame as part of the Suicide Commandos) and Jeff Waryan (later the lead guitar for Figures and other local bands). Dave played the keyboards and sometimes sang.

Recently someone got the idea of reviving the group to play at the fiftieth reunion. They got a hold of drummer Jay Peck, who had also played with Figures, rehearsed mostly remotely, and in the course of a few weeks worked up a play-list of covers that included the Yardbirds' "For Your Love," the Stones' "Under My Thumb," the Beatles "Oh, Darlin'," and a few golden oldies by Fleetwood Mac, the Allman Brothers, and other bands that were after my time.

In performance the reconstituted Seth was clean and crisp. Front-man Steve Almaas was in his element with both the bouncy bass and the lively patter, reminding the audience, for example, of the first gig the band played at a junior high dance half a century ago. Commandos guitarist Chris Osgood stepped in for one number. People danced. More often they merely chatted with friends or videoed the performance.

Hilary and I joined a group of family friends and relatives at a large table near the back, though the vibe was so infectious I spent most of the set out in the crowd, digging the music. Hey! The Yardbirds were one of my favorite bands in junior high. I can whistle the guitar solo from "Shapes of Things" even today.

Though jazz later occupied most of my attention, I also took a brief dive into New Wave rock-n-roll in the early eighties, during which time I was introduced to the Suicide Commandos, the Suburbs, the Flamin O's and other local groups. Somewhre in the basement I have a great four-minute super-8 film of the Suburbs performing live at twilight down in Loring Park. (It's probably worth a fortune.)

After the set I went up to Steve Almaas and said, "You sounded great. But I wish you'd done a favorite from Suicide Commando days: 'I Just Moved into a Haunted House.'"

"That's goin' WAY back," he replied with a laugh.

The tone, character, and even the volume of the music was perfectly suited to the evening, and the crowd of not-so-young listeners all appeared to be having a wonderful time. I'm sure David was proud to look up from the keyboard to see his two sons, both of them now fathers themselves, out in the crowd, and also his brothers Paul and Jeff, who were monitoring and adjusting the mix throughout the set. 

One final touch was the "Seth" coasters that the band had printed up, which were now scattered on tables all around the room.

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The romance of high school never dies, and it was a pleasure to be standing among women and men who had outgrown it without entirely losing it. The music brings all of that to life. 

As Hilary and I were leaving, I snapped a photo of our friends in the crowd, who by chance happened to be lined up like something out of Velazquez's "Las Meninas."