It Took a Trip to Spain to Discover the Monkey Man

Spain. Summer of 1993. After tenth grade.

A school trip. Me. Brian. Rob. The only males.

A lot of the girls on the trip. Were going to be seniors.

We befriended a group of them. I think we bonded. Because we were bad.

Bad isn't the right word. An independent streak.

Some of us had already been to Europe. Instilling a sense of overconfidence. Familiar to all sixteen year olds.

We would roam on our own. Around the cities of Spain.

Sneak out at night. There was drinking for some. Discoing for others.

An incident with the police. That was me. Rob. Brian.

I remember sitting in a room. On a bed. With Julie. We were discussing music.

She pulled out a tape. The Stone Roses. I had never heard of them. Darren introduced them to her. He was my neighbor.

My conversations with him never strayed far from Agnostic Front.

She explained they were going to be big in the United States. Still waiting.

After a family trip to England and Ireland earlier in the year. And some music purchases. My British listening was moving beyond the standards. My standards. New Order. The Cure. Depeche Mode. Joy Division. The Smiths.

We spent a lot of time together for the second half of the trip. Me. Julie. It was a lot of fun.

Attempts to bring it home. Failed. We tried. Some dates. It wasn't there. If I had to guess. It was probably my fault.

Thankfully. My relationship with The Stone Roses had more staying power.

The Stone Roses - Garage Flower. eBay. New.