Author’s Note: Episodes 1 and 2 of Song of Lynchadelphia (Season 3 of Hidden City’s Song of Philadelphia Podcast) focused on the creative big bang that took place during David Lynch’s time in Philadelphia, between 1965 and 1970. Episode 3 examined the wild ways in which the city—Lynch’s impression of the city—manifests itself in Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive, and the Twin Peaks universe. Episode 4 explored the Lynchian happenings in Philly. In episode 5 and 6, Philly’s own and Lynch’s first wife Peggy Reavey recalled how he projected his own fears on the city, while reflecting on her contributions to her husband’s art. Available today on Spotify and Apple Podcasts, episode 7 is the season’s finale. As the season’s guests and a few others share a personal David Lynch memory and reflect on how he and his work affected their life, Song of Philadelphia host Julien Suaudeau and his wife Anne Duchene join the chorus and provide conflicting accounts of the role one Lynch film played in pulling them closer to each other back in the 1990s You can listen to all 19 episodes of Song of Philadelphia, including this entire season of Lynchadelphia, on Apple Podcasts or Spotify, or directly on Libsyn.

I learned and unlearned a thing or two while producing Song of Lynchadelphia.

I also remembered a lot. Revisiting David Lynch’s filmography threw me back to my teenage years, as a high school student and aspiring shoegazer with broken English in Paris.

As Nick Cave, definitely not a shoegazer, sings: I wanna tell you about a girl.

At the end of 11th grade, I bumped into her during lunch period at a record store close to my school. We talked about the bands we loved. On the way back to her school, I realized I had seen her the previous year in the pit at a Pixies concert, disoriented and taken to a less crowded place by a friend. I remembered the surge of sadness I had felt in that moment, thinking that I would probably never see her again.

In front of her school, we exchanged land line phone numbers. I invited her to the studio where my band practiced. A couple of weeks later, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me came out. We went together, with different expectations. I was in love with her. She wanted to see the film.

As spring and summer went by, we became close friends. We recorded silly home videos in which we acted out, in the dubbed French version, our favorite Twin Peaks scenes. We traded cassettes of shoegaze bands and tried to figure out the lyrics. She loved Ride, the heartthrob Oxford band. She had hung out with their drummer. The odds didn’t look too good. Every time I wrote or sang in English, it felt like a reminder that there was no way I could be the real deal for her.

She flew to the US in late summer, to DC. Later, she told me she was bored out of her mind and spent her time at a record store in Georgetown. The family that hosted her set her up on a date with a local boy. Then, they took her on a trip to Billings, Wyoming. She sent me a postcard from there. Her writing on that card gave me hope. I have no idea where the postcard is, but I remember she wrote that she missed me. My memory could be playing tricks on me.

A couple of months later, in October, she stayed in my room later than usual—into the night. She didn’t feel like going home. I don’t think she used those words, but this is what came through. The next day, I turned 17. She came to my school, and we hung out in the courtyard. We kissed.

14 years later, 20 years ago, she got a job at Drexel. We moved to Philly as a married couple in August 2006. The high school sweetheart had become my woman.

The locals quickly learned not to mess with her temper. When my woman flies off the handle, Eagles anger feels like pisse de chat—cat piss. She doesn’t take shit from anyone. Being her man is a lot of work, and it’s also me at my best.

Not a week goes by without one of us quoting a line from a David Lynch film or walking into a Lynchian situation. His dreamworld has become part of our everyday language. It’s in the fabric of our lives. Sometimes, when I think about my woman, I think about Mulholland Drive.

This. Is. The. Girl. Even if I’m in Philly, I’m transported back to that record store in Paris. Two cities and two timelines leak into each other.

Our children were born at Pennsylvania Hospital in 2008 and 2011. Time flew by. Last year, the four of us watched the three Twin Peaks seasons together in our Philly basement. The children understood stuff that we had missed. Passing that onto them, seeing them make it their own, felt good. It felt like going home.
Our son played the Twin Peaks theme at his middle school concert. Our daughter sends me Twin Peaks-related Instagram and TikTok videos.

Who and where would we be without David Lynch?

In this final episode, everyone ponders the question: from Jack Fisk to Peggy Reavey; from my neighbor Patty to Monica Hanh, the current owner of 2416 Poplar Street, where Lynch shot The Grandmother; from The Return actor George Griffith to PhilaMOCA’s Eric Bresler and former Inquirer film critic Carrie Rickey; from street artist Dennis McNett to Josh Hitchens and Mathias Fueling.

It was a thrilling experience to listen to all of them and to figure out how Lynch and Philadelphia intersect for them. As they examined their personal relationship to Lynch’s work, I saw myself in a new light, and I felt closer than ever to Philadelphia.