Fun Costa Fact!
I was in Manhattan during the 2001 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center buildings. I was on my way to my Tuesday philosophy lecture in my first year of college, and I think I had a job interview later that day as well.
So I came aboveground from the subway, headphones on, crossing the big street, Lexington Avenue, to get to my campus. I went to Hunter College, and I remember people looking down Lexington towards downtown, someone yelling something about a plane. Hunter College is at 68th Street on the East Side of Manhattan, so it’s a bit of a ways up from WTC. I went into the building, I was late, and got up to the 3rd floor of the main building and headed to my lecture hall, where people were crowded around the TV’s that, back then (they don’t anymore I believe) were broadcasting the local news. People cried, tried to make phone calls and comfort each other, I worried about a friend of mine from high school who was Muslim and I later found out didn’t leave the house for three days because Queens can be white trash as fuck. I almost walked over the 59th street bridge to get back into Queens that day, ate like four Snickers bars for lunch, and ended up meeting up with my dad and we took the subway.
It was a terrible day, one that didn’t really sink in with me until maybe later that evening, and then for a brief moment the next morning when I woke up and started to get through my morning routine. I looked at my mother and asked her if maybe it was a bad idea to get on the subway again. She scoffed and told me it was fine, not to worry about it, and to get to my Wednesday classes. So I got on the bus, headed to the subway, and put my headphones on while I had my portable CD player in my bag, and pressed play on From Here To Infirmary by Alkaline Trio.
Alkaline Trio were pretty essential to college-aged Costa as a bitingly-dark and gothic punk trio that mixed fucked-up gothic lyrics and imagery with Jawbreaker earnestness and riffs, so of course I jumped all over it. I think they were the first band I experienced that did the “two vocalists” thing really well also. From Here To Infirmary was the first of their records I got, but within like six months I went out and got all their other records. It’s a little heavier and more densely-produced then their previous work (again, Jawbreaker comparison here with JB’s Dear You as the analogous record here), but I kinda consider it, to this day, them at their peak. It’s still in rotation semi-regularly for me. I’ve always liked balances of rawness and nastiness with melody, and it was part of the shift at the time in what I listened to, less California skatepunk bands singing about hating authority and either more hardcore punk (faster, angrier, stupider) or darker sarcastic & moodier stuff (like Alkaline Trio). It’s a fine line between emotional and sappy, between spineless and legitimately earnest, which is a line that college-aged punk boys tend to do poorly with half the time, honestly. Cutting it with evil-looking iconography and sarcasm definitely helped.
I’m listening to the record now as I write this, actually.
But anyway, so it’s September 12th and my mother convinced me to go to my classes, because after all, she and my Dad went to work, so why shouldn’t I go to school? I agreed, shook off any fear or anxiousness, got to the 7 train to get out of Queens and into Manhattan, and hit play on the CD. The first song on the album is called “Private Eye,” and the first few lines go;
I drag this lake, looking for corpses
Dusting for prints, pried up the floorboards
Pieces of plane and black box recorders don’t lie
And I started snickering, out loud, on a quiet subway car full of other people, other New Yorkers also on their way to school or work, quiet and not really talking because it’s the day after a disaster. It was such a surreal moment to me that on the day after terrorists flew hijacked airliners into buildings in my city, I was listening to a dark punk-ish love song that literally starts off describing picking through the crashed remnants of an airplane.
Side-note, for a while after this fun story I legitimately thought I was a sociopath for finding this funny.
Of course it got better, because, in 2001, email was in its nascent infancy as a form of communication (for me at least) and I didn’t have a cellphone. That meant that when I showed up to campus…every door was locked. The buildings were all locked down, and I sorta just stood there dumbfounded for a good five minutes before a security guard inside saw me through the door, and came to let me know I was a dummy for not checking my school email, because campus had been closed and locked down for two days. It’s strange nowadays to look back and not yell at my younger self “why would you think there’d be classes immediately after something like that? And why wouldn’t you check?” but, as we’ve established, A) I was and continue to be kind of dense about cues like that and B) I had literally just started college two weeks before, and the idea of that level of responsibility on my part to stay up-to-date just…eluded me, I guess?
It was an hour-and-a-half commute between my house and my college campus back then, so I basically turned around and went back home, still listening to From Here To Infirmary in the CD player in my bag, headphones snaking out to my ears. Now, ever time I listen to it, when that first song kicks in and Matt Skiba starts to sing, I think about 9/11, about the day after, and about trying not to laugh out loud about plane crashes on the subway.