No. 048 - Jackson Browne’s “Something Fine” changed my life

Homeschool, oldies radio, and a vision of Brandon Madsen's future

Jul 19, 2024

This Song Changed My Life is an independent music publication featuring essays from people all around the world about the songs that mean the most to them. Created by Grace Lilly, supported by readers.

• 5 min read •

I’m 14. It’s the 90’s. New episodes of Seinfeld air on Thursdays. The “Macarena” has wormed its way into every human brain. I live in a suburban town outside Seattle that’s gradually consuming the daffodil farms and forests that surround it. Dad, Mom, younger brother, me. I’m safe and loved and so, so bored.

Life is church three times a week. Chores. Little League. But no school. Nominally I’m homeschooled, but really I’m just home. The school part mostly phased out around third grade. I can learn if I want to and if I can figure out how. (I do, desperately, and I can, mostly.) There’s an old encyclopedia set downstairs that I devour. I’m aware that some of the countries I’m learning about no longer exist, but I’m very good at Jeopardy. There’s practically nothing on the internet, but that doesn’t matter because we don’t have dial-up.

I listen to the radio all day long. Church says no “suggestive lyrics” and no “bad beats.” Rap and hip-hop are forbidden. Alternative rock too. No KUBE 93. No 107.7 The End. I hardly ever break the rules. God is watching and judging, and anyway I’m no rebel.

Instead I listen to older people’s music on Oldies 97.3 KBSG. It’s Chuck Berry, The Supremes, Elvis, The Beatles. The soundtrack of Baby Boomers’ adolescence becomes the soundtrack of mine.

In the 60s The Beatles evolved from a cutesy boyband to an art rock ensemble, and like their original audience, I trail them from “I Want to Hold Your Hand” to “I Am The Walrus,” and from the oldies station to the classic rock station.

My world is small, and I know it. Like a ticketless kid outside a concert venue, I can catch just enough of what others are enjoying to have a sense of what I’m missing. It feels like I’m on the periphery of a lot of things. Seattle’s just 40 miles away, but we never go. I know from the TV news that it’s the epicenter of grunge, but grunge is forbidden and Cobain died when I was 11. I spend a lot of time at my grandma’s house, across the street from Edgemont Junior High. I’m not quite sure what happens in there, but the kids streaming out every afternoon sure seem to have a lot of fun together.

The classic rock station sometimes plays Jackson Browne. Mostly “Running On Empty,” but occasionally “Doctor My Eyes,” from Browne’s eponymous first album from 1972. I spot the CD at the library and check it out. I’m here for the hit, with its catchy hook and its improbably effective congas. But it’s track nine that changes my life.

“Something Fine” is a revelation. It’s a spare ballad built on a delicate lattice of fingerstyle acoustic guitar. Browne’s voice, earnest but relaxed, is accented at key points by tasteful harmonies.

It sounds like how I feel and how I want to feel. I love the song so much that I ration my listening to avoid growing numb to its poignancy.

Browne (or his lightly fictionalized persona) speaks from a place beyond my own inchoate yearning. He’s already traveled, he’s seen things, he’s savored experiences. He’s a West Coast boy in London reflecting on his past, and he’s earned some nostalgia. He’s not quite sure what’s ahead. He’s lived enough that he’s already a little weary of it. Imagine having drunk so deeply from the well of life that you’re tired of gulping. He’s talking with a woman, a lover, who’s contemplating traveling to Morocco, and he’s been there. He knows it's wonderful. He knows that she’s wonderful, but also that their paths will diverge, and that’s okay. Maybe they’ll meet up again someday and rekindle their romance.

Pining across the Atlantic has a rich history in folk music, spanning Irish and Scottish emigrants missing the old sod or a bonnie lass, to Bob Dylan longing for a lover who sailed away and settling in the end for boots of Spanish leather. The thing desired is usually specified. But Browne leaves it open. He yearns for something splendid yet ineffable: something fine. Like a skillful clairvoyant, he prompts you to fill in the specifics, and once you’ve done it you feel like he’s told you your own story.

But it’s not quite my own story yet. It’s my own story in the future. A vision of my young adulthood coaxing me forward.

This life sounds good.

And this song sounds gorgeous. It’s not an easy song to play, but the recipe — fingerpicked acoustic guitar, voice, and sensitive lyrics — seems approachable.

I think I can do this.

I teach myself to play the cheap Yamaha guitar that my Grandpa bought thinking he’d learn to play but never did. Over the next couple years I begin writing songs. Bad ones at first, then less bad ones, then pretty good ones. I work and save and buy an old Subaru, and I start performing at open mics. It’s terrifying, but playing for a crowd is a powerful icebreaker. Afterward, everyone has something to talk with me about. My social world expands and takes shape. For once I’m in the thing, not outside looking in. Girls in particular seem to like what I play, and I like that they like it.

I start college at 16, and my closest friendships are rooted in music and a shared pursuit of something fine.

After college I move to the UK and get at least as close to Morocco as Jackson Browne did. (He didn’t go there either.) I play my songs in pubs and bars, and I spend a spring backpacking all over Europe.

I drink deeply from the well of life.

I come home at 21, a young man expanded, inspired, and ready.

The dreams are rolling down across the places in my mind
And I've just had a taste of something fine

Brandon at a hostel in Hungary, age 21, 2003

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About Brandon

Brandon Madsen is a vintage furniture dealer and restorer who lives in Seattle. His wife Annalicia graciously tolerates his guitar and piano playing around the house and almost never complains about his proliferating collection of vinyl records.

Instagram @brrrandon9 and @madsenmodern

Website www.madsenmodern.com

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