Joup Confessions…

chicagoI do not care for enjoying things ironically, whether it be music, film, or so on. If something is bad…it’s just bad. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still enjoy it. Maybe it’s unintentionally hilarious. Maybe it takes you back to younger years. Maybe you just don’t care what I think, or anybody else for that matter. If it makes you feel good, then there’s no guilt in it. There are no guilty pleasures.

But there most certainly are shameful ones.

And we all have them. Every last one of us. You can put on airs about how hip or cool or detached you are, but deep, deep down, you know you love something that embarrasses you. You know you love something that by all accounts, you really shouldn’t. And you know what? It’s going to be okay. I’m here for you, and I have a confession myself:


There. It’s out in the open now. Let my shame be a reprieve from your own. And then lets leave the flood gates wide open as we all rejoice in what moves and embarrasses us. For we are one. And we are legion.

I really don’t know why I have such a soft spot for Peter Cetera or Chicago. If you put it on paper, or compare it to literally anything else that I am a fan of, it just doesn’t make sense. I should hate it. It should make me want to throw up. But instead I belt it out and sing along. When I was in maybe second grade, my older sister received a Chicago cassette from one of her friends on her birthday. Being seven years old, I was unfamiliar with the band, but I sought it out anyway, as I did most of the music that my sister listened to back then. And I rocked that cassette. And for some reason, it never really left my brain. I can listen to all the punk, or metal, or hip-hop music in the world, and that damn Chicago will never leave. And I’m not really sure why.


As we get older, we rediscover the things that made us happy as kids. It’s everywhere now, in revived music scenes, big budget movie adaptations of beloved properties, and the overall recycle/re-use pop culture climate we all live in. So there’s that. Or maybe it’s just this:

Or maybe it’s that Peter Cetera made music for The Karate Kid 2:

Or maybe it’s that one night when I was home from college, visiting my family, I went out with a couple of old friends, cruising around Midland, Texas in my friend’s father’s sedan, listening to Chicago’s greatest hits, as that’s what was left in the stereo. The three of us opened all the windows, and we blasted that shit for the whole town to hear. It was glorious. It was fun. It set the tone for one of my favorite nights ever (the three of us still bring it up).

Ultimately, it just doesn’t matter. You can’t help what you love.

In a lot of ways though, I think it just takes me back to being a kid, a kid with no perceived notion of what was cool. That’s a really pure way to be, and to some degree, that kind of naivete would be a great, big breath of fresh air right now. I hope my son stays that way for as long as possible. Where you can find value in anything.

Even crap.

As we do with our weekly Joup Friday Album column, I would like to see what our other writers might have a shameful love for. So, I’d like to challenge all of you to unleash your embarrassment upon us all. Shawn, anything you’d like to fess up to?

(I’m sorry.)


Thomas H Williams

Thomas H Williams

From a bunker somewhere in Central Texas, Thomas H. Williams spends most of his time with his wife, his two sons, and his increasingly neurotic dog. He listens to a lot of music, drinks a lot of excellent beers, and gets out from time to time. For even more shenanigans, visit

2 Responses to Joup Confessions…
  1. […] be viewed as “sketch” to a discerning critic is Chicago “17.” Well thanks Th...
  2. […] I completely agree with Tommy from last week’s inaugural Joup Confessions… column when h...

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