Rainbow — 6/14/26
I played the song “Rainbow” by Boris in the car on the way to a school event Nina was performing in. Actually Apple Music put it on, but I perked up when it started and told the car how I liked this song. There’s a bit of a lengthy guitar solo just bursting out over some type of Velcro fuzz effect. I always loved that the guitar really jutted against the sleek backdrop of the song. Before it, we are entranced with a dark ride, a dragged snare into a kick, a simple and restrained guitar part that just slowly reveals a semblance of a chord progression.
Then comes in this lead part that just wills itself to combustion.
The problem in particular this morning was that our car’s speaker system had some sort of loose connection to the stereo, so the lead part sounded even more lo-fi and agitated than it would have been.
Noticing the part was particularly more jarring, I looked around the car a little bit to receive a knowing glance from Nadia. When I turned to Nina, she exclaimed in the most genuine toddler fashion, “Oh my god! This song is really bad.”
Nadia could not hold her composure and immediately started texting a group thread about it. When I realized the car stereo was messed up, I joked that I should play the song again. “Please, not again,” said Leo. Nadia fires another message to the group thread. I was just trying to drive us safely to the Northwest African American museum.
Truth be told, part of me was very unsettled by the whole moment. Not just the public embarrassment in front of my friends and family that Nadia was all too eager to stoke. What really got me was that, in my mind, “Rainbow” is a fantastic, top 5 Boris song. And I know, a lot of its charm and texture is missing already from playing in a car ride over the occasionally bumpy Seattle roads and even more so by the stereo malfunction. Yet this moment had me doubting my own taste, as if it should be universally self-evident how great this song is rambling through my crackly speakers. But also, I know I can be a bit unabashed when playing music. I recall once rolling up to Nina’s daycare on a cargo bike, Deafheaven blasting. And turning to Leo seated behind me with something like “Okay, this is too much.”
We got to the museum at about the same time as 60 other families in Nina’s school. I dropped off Nadia and Nina who checked in with her teachers. While looking around the neighborhood for parking, “Black Soot and Red Blood” by Panopticon comes roaring in. How did we get here, Apple Music? Feeling vulnerable to another potential loss, I turn the music down and chat with Leo about where we should park.
When we finally stepped into Jimi Hendrix Park, where Nina and the other students would be performing, I felt beads of sweat rolling down my spine. My phone told me 78 degrees, a hot day by Seattle standards though I had to keep reminding myself how much I bathed in the sun and humidity of Houston.
We found a partially shaded spot near a tree. Nina was the second class to perform that morning. Nina was locked in, twisting, turning, stepping, and pointing to Gloria Estefan’s “Wepa.” Before seeing her, we could not get so much as a word about what her performance was. Just a nod when I asked if she would be dancing. Nadia later told me, when they were waiting in line together to get checked in with her teachers, Nina was struggling to maintain her composure and on the verge of tears. “I’m nervous,” she blurted. She looked fearless on the stage.
We watched the rest of the performances as the event continued into the afternoon. A lot of exceptionally catchy tunes billowed over the bright fields of the park. Somewhere between songs, I realized I’d had “The Wind Cries Mary” stuck in my head all morning, as soon as I set foot in Hendrix park. Many of the numbers were about immigration, why it occurred, how it felt, how communities were maintained, and what it means to find belonging somewhere new. Nina and I danced to “NUEVAYoL” by Bad Bunny.
Score: Nationals 10, Mariners 1
Seats: Car, Picnic Blanket
Memory: “Rainbow” is still great despite being undanceable