One Year and a Day Later

One year ago yesterday, one of my personal heroes died. Lance Hahn, primary song writer for the band J Church died, while in a coma, suffering from Kidney damage. I don't know if he went peacefully or if he was in pain, but regardless, he left well before his time.

I was personally fortunate enough to develop a small friendship with Lance, but it seems like such a thing wasn't hard to achieve. He wasn't one to brush someone off if they were genuinely interesting, or interested. Although the bulk of our communication was through Myspace messages and emails, it gave me a better understanding of his music.

I'd been a fan of J Church since the beginning and quite literally growing up around their music. The first album came out my senior year of high school. I was a fan of Cringer, so it was natural that I'd want to check out J Church, and within the first few lines of Bottom Rung, I already knew that I found my favorite band.

Me, I’m part of the machine,
The bottom rung of the company,
The only time I start to worry,
Is when the machine becomes part of me

Those lyrics held true not only to me, working shitty retail jobs that I hated, but watching my own father deal with this very struggle at his horrible factory job. The song itself, it's delivery, the lyrics, the guitars, they all tugged the heart strings just the right way. I quickly learned that this would be common place for my relationship with J Church. I remember when I bought the Ivy League College 7" and played it for my friends. I converted a small army of kids into J Church fans.

About a month ago, I was listening to the Prophylaxis album, and every time I hear the song Foreign Films I think about my friendship with this girl, Nicole, who I've lost touch with to some extent over the years. The foundation of our friendship was based entirely on late night conversation over coffee at the local Denny's. To this day, anytime I hear this song, I automatically think of Nicole, but the early J Church records will always be associated with her and my band mates Pat and Mikey. Our mutual love of J Church, the ridiculous covers of J Church songs we would do, the train wreck of a relationship Mikey had with Nicole, it's all tied to J Church for me.

I was talking to a co-worker about music and J Church came up and I went on about how they're my favorite band. I always feel weird about saying that, because I feel like a favorite band is something that can change. J Church holds a very specific branding on my heart. They're above and beyond a favorite band; they're like an old friend. I feel about J Church the way I feel about dudes like Tim Thomas. I always have a million things I can talk about with him and never grow tired of conversation. J Church will always have a million songs I will never grow tired of and those songs will always be tied to very specific times in my life. They're committed to skin, forever. I will someday finish the J Church tattoo, adding the words "Nostalgic for Nothing." It'll be ironic, because J Church is an extremely nostalgic band, and aside from the songs giving me that fluttery feeling in my chest, the one that you get when you hear your new favorite song, they're nostalgically tied to very specific events in my life.

The song "Aeroplane Angel," although it is admittedly one of my lesser favorites, it will always hold a very special place in my heart and in my record collection, because it was the first track on the 7" I helped put out. It was the second time I ever committed money to put a record out. In fact, because of that song, my friendship with Lance started. I was no longer the weird fan-boy who would ask him about songs and singles and zines. When I look back at the things I've done in my life, the things that I'm most proud of, helping put out that 7" is right up near the top of the list.

So to end this post, I'll say that I miss Lance a great deal, as do a lot of other people who were significantly closer to him than I was. That should stand as a testament to how amazing of a human being he truly was.