Originally posted September 10, 2008
The year of 1990 was an odd one: I ended up living in three different states.
I spent the first three and a half months working for a chain of newspapers based in Osseo, a small town northwest of Minneapolis, around which suburbs had grown since World War II. I spent half of my time reporting government and school events for the newspaper in the suburb of Champlin, an area then entering a boom phase. The rest of the time, I did odd jobs and tasks for the parent company, from researching and buying a new fax machine to filling in for the chain’s sports reporter when he took a vacation. I had an apartment in Anoka, a city about eight miles away, and spent most of my free time reading and listening to music at home.
In mid-April, I packed all my things to move. The Bekins guys did double-takes when they saw the boxes of books and records on a Monday morning. (I’m not sure how many books I had at the time, maybe three hundred, but I was up to nearly seven hundred records when I left Anoka.) When they drove their moving van down the street, I packed the three cats into the car, waved at my landlady, and headed south to a small town in Kansas, where a lady friend was waiting for me.
How small a town was it? Well, I got there Tuesday. My lady friend had girls in school, and we went to a school event Tuesday evening. Wednesday and Thursday, I spent driving from town to town in the area, looking for a newspapering job. The van with my stuff arrived early Friday, and I spent the morning beginning to put things in place. So when I walked down the street to buy a can of beans for lunch, I’d been out in public in this little place for maybe three hours.
And as I stood at the cash register, the clerk looked at me sharply for a second and then relaxed. “Oh,” she said, “You must be Candi’s friend from Minnesota!” I stammered, nodded and grinned, then headed back to my apartment stunned.
As it turned out, things did not go well in that small town. I wrote for newspapers in two towns about twenty miles away, heard a lot of country music in the restaurants and cafes, learned I didn’t care for the dry prairie heat, and struggled to build something lasting before we both surrendered and I headed east to Columbia, Missouri.
There, I did some free-lance writing, taught journalism at a women’s college, finished a master’s degree and breathed a sigh of relief to be back in an environment where rock and pop were the dominant forms of music. (I was tired of twang and drawl, although I have to admit I like country more now than I did then.) In the spring of 1991, when tax-filing season came around, I had the interesting experience of preparing three state returns, for Minnesota, Kansas and Missouri. So 1990, to me, has always been the year of three states.
It’s also always been the year of Lowen & Navarro. I’m not sure when the duo’s album, Walking On A Wire, was released, but in memory, it seems to me that Cities 97 played either the title track or “We Belong” nearly every day during the first portion of the year as I made my morning drive from Anoka to Osseo. (“We Belong” had been covered to great effect, of course, by Pat Benatar, whose version went to No. 5 during the winter of 1984-85, and Richard and Linda Thompson had covered “Walking On A Wire” on their remarkable 1982 album, Shoot Out The Lights.)* And when I got to Columbia after my brief exile in cow and wheat country, one of the radio stations in that university town happened to number Lowen & Navarro’s versions of “Walking On A Wire” and “We Belong” among its favorite tracks.
For some reason, I didn’t go look for the LP – it was Lowen & Navarro’s debut recording – but instead just enjoyed the tunes whenever the radio gods sent them my way. Maybe that was just as well. I got the CD at a garage sale a few years back, and the rest of the CD doesn’t stand up to the quality of the two songs mentioned above.
Oh, it’s not an awful CD. Eric Lowen and Dan Navarro – assisted with the writing in various combinations by Rick Boston, Jim Scott, Rik May, Gerry Polci and Preston Sturges – know their way around a melody. But the words sometimes fail them. Many of the lyrics on Walking On A Wire are tired, predictable and trite, with the still remarkable exceptions of the two songs that drew me to the album to begin with. Of those two, Lowen & Navarro wrote “We Belong,” and they were joined in the writing of “Walking On A Wire” by Boston.
Beyond the writing, the CD sounds good. Lowen & Navarro and their various friends – including Dan Navarro’s brother Dave, who adds some guitar – came out of the studio with an album that has an appealing acoustic pop-folk sound to it. To me, it’s the kind of CD I load into the player with the rest of the stuff I’ve got and let tracks come up at random.
And every time I hear either “We Belong” or the title track, there I am, either driving toward Kansas or getting the hell out of there, back to where I belong.
Musicians on the CD were:
Eric Lowen, guitar and vocals; Dan Navarro, guitar, vocals and percussion; Simeon Pillich, acoustic and electric bass; Tim Timmermans, drums and percussion; Richard Dodd, cello; Jim Scott, omnichord and percussion; David Navarro, guitars on “What I Make Myself Believe” and “Someone Like You”; Didi Navarro Cortez, flute on “Seven Bridges”; Preston Sturges, dobro on “Hammerhead Shark”; and Richard Hardy, tin whistle on “What I Make Myself Believe.”
Somewhere Far Away
Walking On A Wire
The Spell You’re Under
What I Make Myself Believe
Someone Like You
C’est La Vie
She Said No
Lowen & Navarro – Walking On A Wire 
*That statement about the Thompsons is, of course, in error. Their “Walking On A Wire” is an entirely different song. Note added August 5, 2011.