I thought I was too old to fall in love again — until two chords proved me wrong

I have a new favorite band. I know that sounds weird. I’m not a teenager. I’m a grown adult man.

I was in my car when I first heard the song “Jupiter” on the alternative music station. It began with a distinctive guitar part, two chords played in a simple rhythmic pattern.

An actual band is too much like a gang. Or a terrorist group. Four white guys roaming around the country in a van? We better have the FBI look into that.

It was super catchy. Very simple. Nice groove. It didn’t sound like anything else on the radio. The band is called Almost Monday.

Smoothed and removed

I downloaded “Jupiter” and put it on a playlist. It stood out, even among some classic songs. I found myself humming it during my day. And then needing to listen to it when I got home.

A month or two later, another new song by Almost Monday came out, “Can’t Slow Down.” It had a similar repetitive guitar riff. But in this song, there was a great bass part as well.

Both songs had a slick quality. Super produced. Really clean and effortless.

I think of music like that as “not letting you in.” You, the listener, are experiencing music so smooth and polished, you can’t imagine actual people playing it.

You can’t picture the band members. They’re projecting a wall of glossy perfection. And you can’t see through it.

*******

I downloaded “Can’t Slow Down” and put that on a playlist. But it sounded best on my car radio while I was driving. Fortunately, it was on heavy rotation, and I drive a lot. So I heard it constantly.

“Jupiter” was still playing continuously as well. The two songs were like a one-two punch. By July, it seemed Almost Monday was the breakout band of the summer.

“Jupiter” and “Can’t Slow Down” were definitely my “summer songs.” And probably a lot of other people’s as well.

It was almost like Almost Monday had become my new favorite band.

Trends to the end

I haven’t had a favorite band in a long time. I didn’t even think I was capable of having a favorite band again, to be honest. I mean, I still listen to the radio. I still follow the trends in music.

I enjoyed the “yacht rock” trend from a couple of years ago. But that was more of a joke. But even joke-trends can produce good music.

If I were a music critic, I would describe Almost Monday as “post-yacht rock, California pop.” Smooth, catchy melodies. Clever lyrics. No politics, no depressing thoughts. A strong Southern California vibe (the band is from San Diego).

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Looking back, my first favorite bands were Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith. That was in high school. In college, it was Echo and the Bunnymen. When I lived in San Francisco after college, it was the Smiths.

All these bands became like close friends to me. I would miss them if I didn’t hear them at least once a day. I needed my fix.

When I got into my 30s, I became more of a general fan. That was when grunge happened. I liked all those bands, but none really stood out as my favorite.

After grunge, there were many music groups I liked. Radiohead. Interpol. Elliott Smith. Sufjan Stevens’ “Carrie & Lowell” album. But I wouldn’t say any of these were “my favorite band.”

The trouble with happiness

One thing I should say: I don’t usually enjoy music like Almost Monday. I was never into that carefree, happy-sunshine, California vibe. I typically like heavier, moodier stuff.

But maybe because the tone of society is so dark and fraught right now, the lightness of their music feels almost revolutionary. How dare they be so easy-going. So outwardly cheerful. Who do they think they are?

Also, they’re a bunch of white guys. Which is not exactly in fashion. Shouldn’t they have some women and some racial diversity in their group?

And even being “a band” seems retrograde and reactionary. Current pop music is about individual stars. Chappell Roan. Benson Boone. Sabrina Carpenter. Bad Bunny.

These are individual “artists” with specific marketing concepts and replaceable musicians.

An actual band is too much like a gang. Or a terrorist group. Four white guys roaming around the country in a van? We better have the FBI look into that.

*******

All summer I listened to “Can’t Slow Down” and “Jupiter,” multiple times a day. But I’d still never actually seen the group. I didn’t feel a need to.

But then one night, I had the TV on, and I heard Jimmy Kimmel introduce the group on his show. I hurried over to the TV and turned up the sound.

They played “Can’t Slow Down.” They were super simple in their stage presentation. Just four guys. Singer, bass, drums, guitar.

They had no amps, I noticed. There was almost nothing on the stage. The guitarist played that one simple repeating progression.

They were super chill. The singer moved around a little. The guitarist and bassist just played. The drummer drummed. They didn’t let you in.

Really, it was fantastic. But would America appreciate their understated cool? Their simplicity? Their Zen-like reserve?

They’d had two smash-hit singles on alternative radio that summer. But what did that mean in the music biz? Was “alternative music” still a big market? Do young people even listen to music anymore? How do bands make money nowadays?

RELATED: Where have all the rock bands gone?

Jeff Kravitz/Getty Images

I’ll see you in September

In September, I rode a ferry up to Alaska. This was not a cruise. It was a ferry, with dogs and trucks and locals. It took three days. There was no TV on board, nothing much to do.

That’s when I realized how close I felt to Almost Monday. I would hang around on deck for a couple of hours, then go back to my bunk and listen to “Jupiter” and “Can’t Slow Down.”

I dug up some of their other songs that I’d downloaded. Now I had time to listen to these closely and develop new favorites.

It was fun because in my mind these were “summer songs,” but every hour we steamed north on the ferry, it got colder.

Summer was not fading away over a month or two, like usual. It was fading hour by hour.

So I binged on the summer sounds of Almost Monday, as the skies grew dark and people on deck started wearing down parkas.

*******

A favorite band is like a best friend. It is the first person you want to talk to in the morning. And the last person you want to hear from before you go to bed. During the day, you don’t need to be in constant contact, but you’re relieved when you’re in their presence again.

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Now I’m back in Portland. It’s wet and cold, but I still listen to Almost Monday every day.

I hope they make it big. Or big enough to never have to get normal jobs.

That’s all I ever wish for, for my fellow creatives: I hope they make some money. I never wish for them wild success or huge fame. That can be bad for a person.

But I do want them to make enough money that they can be artists for the rest of their lives. And not have to worry about paying their rent.

In music, sometimes all it takes is to write a couple great songs (and own the publishing rights). I know Almost Monday has already accomplished that. So hopefully the rest is gravy.