That’ll Learn Ya reunites

That’ll Learn Ya was a band formed at URI, and their heyday was when I was a student there. Their success as a local band was not only on the URI campus, although that was their main fan base. If you are a Rhode Islander of a certain age, you remember That’ll Learn Ya. The lead singer, Terry Fallon, was somehow involved in the theatre department at URI, although it was right before my time, but I remember seeing him around. They were stars. Their shows jangled with energy, and their songs were fantastic. Brendan was the big fan – he was obsessed with them. In January 2008, he wrote a blog-post about one of the songs of theirs he remembered: “Robert DeNiro Movies” (a hit, if there ever was one). Read Brendan’s reminiscences, and then check out the comments. Of Rhode Islanders who remember.

That’ll Learn Ya was pre-Internet. Those old cassettes of their albums … where are they now? Find-able? Yes? No? I was talking with my brother about That’ll Learn Ya this past weekend, and talking about memory. We are of the generation that straddles that divide: the tech-boom divide. We remember 45s, and turntables, and lifting the handle of the damn record player arm to drop it down into the exact groove we wanted. We remember things having to LAST, because … that was the technology at the time. It was up to us to hold onto things, keep them close and well-preserved, because if you lost such-and-such? Where would you get it again? Nothing was forever. Things disappeared back then. If you lost something, you couldn’t find it again. There was no instantly-accessible Web archive where you could immediately look up any damn thing you wanted.

So That’ll Learn Ya disappeared. For 20 years. Brendan is an obsessive, like myself, and he searched, for years, for those old cassette tapes – the only evidence he had of That’ll Learn Ya’s music. Then, suddenly, we’ve got the Web, we can reach out, we can put things out there into the universe, asking for help in finding something – because, whaddya know, it turns out that things DON’T disappear. Not if you remember them. But that was totally not the case back in the late 80s. I have so many memories of scouring the TV Guide on a weekly basis to see if certain things would play that week, TV movies I had seen once, 4 years before, and was DYING to see again. That was the only way I would know. What if Orphan Train plays at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday night and I don’t know about it? That means it will be yet another 4 years before I can see it again. My memory of it was strong, but the ability to re-live, re-watch, re-listen – was minimal back then. This is a world that has completely vanished in one generation. Rather extraordinary, no?

The last comment on Brendan’s post is from July of this year and it reads:

Recently TLY put together a Facebook profile. They uploaded a bunch of their songs with Robert Deniro Movies being one of them. There is also a possible reunion coming together.

When That’ll Learn Ya joined Facebook, there was a ripple effect among my friends from Rhode Island. One after another after another “became fans” of That’ll Learn Ya, and it was so strange, so good to ‘see’ those guys again, even though I did not know them, and haven’t seen them play in two decades. What have they been up to?

Then came word that they were playing a reunion show on Saturday, November 28, 2009 at The Ocean Mist, a fantastic bar (basically a huge rickety SHACK on the beach, with a deck that the waves roll right under) – and the timing could not have been more perfect. Brendan was going to be in town for Thanksgiving. He was out of his mind. That’ll Learn Ya? Reuniting? At the OCEAN MIST? While he was home? What??

On Saturday, there was the O’Malley Thanksgiving. An emotional day. Everyone left at around 6 p.m. and I totally could have gotten into my pajamas right then and never left the couch for the rest of the night. That’ll Learn Ya was playing on the bill with, I think, 4 other Rhode Island bands. They were going up third, which meant they wouldn’t start to play until 11 p.m. I’m an old lady. Even older now that I just had my birthday on Friday. At 6 p.m. it was inconceivable that I could be awake long enough to get my ass down to the Ocean Mist. But we were going to meet up at Jean and Pat’s beforehand, and then all head down, so I succumbed to O’Malley peer pressure (so glad I did), and hung in there. Lucy was at Pat’s parents’ house, so the two of them were coming out too. Very exciting. Brendan and I drove over to Jean and Pat’s. It was a chilly night. Everyone was sitting out on the screened-in porch. Some people there didn’t remember That’ll Learn Ya, others did – and we all were heading down to the Mist in one hilarious caravan. We wanted to get there by 9 p.m. After the intensity of the day, it was nice to just hang out and relax.

Jokes were made about how dead it was going to be that night at The Mist. Pretty much everyone on that porch has worked at The Mist at some point in their lives, and Katie was on call that night. She was “third” on the list, and she was hoping she wouldn’t get called. Someone had stopped by there earlier that night and reported that it was totally dead. My view was – even if it was just US there, it wouldn’t matter – it would be a great show. However, judging from the frenzied response on That’ll Learn Ya’s Facebook page, I had a feeling the place would be packed. It was Thanksgiving weekend, a perfect time. Many of us from that generation no longer live in Rhode Island, but we come home for the holiday. We would all be there. I don’t know. I thought the joint would be jumpin’. And whaddya know, at about 8:30, Katie’s cell phone rang. She was being summoned to the Mist to work. Which meant the crowds were arriving. Which meant they needed help behind the bar. Which meant it would be packed.

Exciting!

We all got into our respective cars and took off down route 1. Bren was driving. The road up and down outside the Mist was lined with cars. People were parking illegally, with abandon. We cruised up and down the strip looking for a space. “I have never seen it like this,” said Bren. We finally squeezed into a spot that said “No Parking” directly above it, but everybody else was freely blocking fire hydrants, crosswalks and driveways, so we threw our hats into the ring. The ocean was crashing on the beach to our right, that ever-present roar, as we hurried along the street to the bar. We walked into the Mist and the place was packed, wall-to-wall people. I ended up seeing tons of people I knew – the biggest surprise being Ram, an old friend from high school. Crazy! But there were also people there that I have known, basically, my whole life. People I played tag and hide-and-go-seek with, T-shirts stained with popsicles and fudgsicles. Childhood friends. Nuts. It was awesome. I was SO glad I wasn’t in my pajamas, at home, and the next morning Brendan would say to me, “It was so great, Sheila – wish you had been there.” So glad.

During the show, the huge space in front of the stage crammed with people, people dancing and jumping up and down and taking pictures – shouting along with the songs, songs none of us have heard in 20 years, but the lyrics remain intact in our head – Jean leaned over and whispered to me, “I have never seen it like this.” Jean has worked at the Mist for years. It was a special special night. You could feel it in the air.

But. I really must pass the baton now to my dear brother Brendan, an amazing writer – he brings me to tears on a regular basis. He did a write-up of the show which is not to be missed, even if you’ve never heard of That’ll Learn Ya. Because we all have those things in our lives – music, a book, a movie – that reminds us of another time, a time when we were young, different, hopeful, sad, whatever. And these things, while they may seem ephemeral, hard to pin down, are actually not. They are as solid, as tangible, as the ocean pounding the sand beneath the Mist. It is strangely comforting. Rediscovering this helps us remember who we are.

Nothing goes away.

Here is Brendan’s review of the That’ll Learn Ya reunion at the Ocean Mist, on November 28, 2009.

And again, check out the comments. Love, remembrance, acknowledgement, excitement, plus a comment from one of the band members himself.

One of the most beautiful nights I have had in recent memory.