50 at 50: Musical Memories

So I'm sitting at work a few days ago, listening to "Wingspan: Hits and History" (Paul McCartney & Wings), which I had bought a few years ago and truly enjoyed. And "Let 'Em In" came on -- whenever I hear that song, it's Spring 1976 and I'm laid up in bed with chicken pox. I'm missing my first grade class as I'm in quarantine, just me and my Woodsy Owl coloring book, a copy of Little Women and math workbooks (little geek that I was).

It  made me think how music can be an instant time machine. If I close my eyes on a certain song, I can still see the room I was in, the people with me, the weather outside, so many things that take me to another place and time. Not necessarily the first time I ever heard the song, but a visceral memory that has seared itself so much into me that I cannot separate it from the song.

The opening riff of "The One I Love" by REM? I'm a college freshman, fourth floor of the Stern Center, sitting in the fraternity office, working on some bit of studying and Tim G walks in. He says, "Hey, turn that up a little" and I roll in the office chair to the table where the little plug-in radio is. I can still see the afternoon sun starting to set over Charleston. I'm facing southeast toward the Battery and the ocean, even though I'm still a good mile or two from there. Tim's wearing a plaid shirt. Five seconds of a song and it comes rushing back.

Or "Cherry Bomb" by John Mellencamp. Roughly the same time frame, and I'm driving myself home for a weekend. The sun is slung really low in the sky as I drive northwest toward home. I can feel that mid-November fall air all around. Everything is in those fire-soaked autumn shades of yellow and gold and brown and red. I'm wearing a pale yellow heathered sweater that I'd bought on my first trip home in October from the store owned by my high school BFF's mom and dad. Funny what the brain retains.

Or "Nothing" by Dwight Yoakam. It's summer 1998, if I recall. I'd lost track of calendar time while still in shock from a breakup that I knew was coming and yet still couldn't believe had actually happened. Even now, I'm hard pressed to recall specific events for about a year-and-a-half time frame. I can think of maybe 10 over the course of 500 days. But it's summer, and the song comes on, and all I can dwell on is all that I lost. And I start crying -- again. And this little voice from the back of my head whispers, "What if you just didn't take that upcoming curve at the right angle and went sailing into those trees?" It is the first ideation I've had in years at that point and quite honestly, it snaps me out of the funk. I'm shaking and crying and I'm scared and I pull into a parking lot (I think for a church), and I sit and I cry and I'm more frightened by the idea that I would do such a thing over a guy. Am I really that sad and desperate? I cry it out for a while for a variety of reasons and then wipe my face and drive to my destination. I think that was the day I knew I really would survive.

Or "Blow Up The Outside World" by Soundgarden. It's late fall 2015 and I am spiraling into a funk I can't explain and I can't shake. What I do know is that my already-established dread of the holidays is intensified to a level that I've never known before. Every person on the planet is irritating me to an extreme. My head is exploding every few days with a recurring migraine that never seems to abate. And having to go into any retail establishment -- even to pick up groceries or office supplies -- is a trip into existential hell. My earbuds and MP3 player have become my best friends. And after exiting any store, I get into my car and cue up this song (#3 in the CD changer, song #6). And I sit there and breathe. I try to stop my skin from feeling like it's going to melt off my body and I try to ease the pounding of my head. These days, the song doesn't bring up that image unless I think about it hard (like now). But I understood that feeling of wanting to just tell the world to eat crap and die and isolate yourself. It would be a few more weeks before I would finally get on some meds that turned out to be a tremendous help.......

And then there are the funny ones that I shared with my brother. Yesterday, as part of their "Big 1000," the Big 80s on 8 played Rick Astley's "She Wants to Dance with Me." I had to laugh SO so hard -- not just because, hello? Rick Astley? But it also brought back a crazy memory: my brother changed up the lyrics (long backstory) but it was almost Weird Al-like: "She wants to pray with me / Yeah, I love when she clutches her rosary...." and I could see my brother singing it and doing the funky Rick Astley dance and it made me smile -- it also made me miss him but it made me laugh more!

So what are some of your favorite musical memories? I'd love to hear them. Drop them in the comments (note, comments WILL be moderated).

And I'm sitting here tonight, as 2019 rolls into 2020, about an hour or so left in this year, and I'm grateful for music and memories.