Memoir: Melodious Memory (the alliteration was too great to pass up... sorry)
The Memory of Music
Is there a piece of music that reminds you of a particular time and place in your life?
I can think of a song tied to a memory right away. The song?
"Let's Dance," by Chris Rea.
Some might think me sappy or philistine to pick a little-known eighties rock song. Or now you think of me that way because you know it's an eighties rock song. Trust me, I could've easily picked "So What," by Miles Davis. I'll get to you in a minute.
The song fills me with a sense of comfort, joy, and love. This is for two reasons. (Believe it or not, I usually don't wax this Reader's Digest when I write a memoir. That tells you how good Chris Rea is. The man literally exudes thick, lively, sensual coolness out of his guitar and his voice.)
The reasons, or more aptly, incidents occurred roughly 15 years apart. When I was younger, we lived in Seattle, home of Bill Nye the Science Guy, The Space Needle, rain, The Mariners, The Pacific Science Center, coffee, and rain. By younger, I mean my sister and I were driven everywhere by our mother. This lead to many great bonding experiences as we took trips to museums and parks, as well as daily school rides accompanied by tapes of Chris Rea, one of my mom's favorite artists. (the media the music was recorded on should tell you how long ago this was).
In fact, now that I think about it, Seattle was a great place to grow up. Why the hell did we move?
Oh, now I remember.
Grunge.
Thanks, Eddie Vedder. Pearl Jam may be my favorite band of all time, but you guys also made us move to Minnesota. By the way, I still haven't bought your latest album. I heard it's great, though.
Anyway, one poignant memory I have, in particular, is listening to the song "Let's Dance" while riding in the car through the Seattle area in the late eighties. I think it struck me because it was my first real introduction to what a carefully crafted rock song sounded like, recognizable even to my young ears.
Every few years, the memory would surface, as I had none of the original music to listen to: the rain streaming, or the clouds gathering in the mossy districts of the Northwest, riding to school or a museum or park, hearing the crunch and flow of Chris' Fender swirl in the air.
As time passed, I forgot the name of the artist (sorry, Mr. Rea), but I never forgot the name of the song. With the advent of iTunes, I had an opportunity to indulge my 15-year conundrum, but one search for "Let's Dance" gave me more hits than Naomi Campbell. If I were hired as her new assistant. I'm going to be honest: that joke pretty much tripped and fell on its face. Also, needless to say, I had better things to do than wade through a thousand songs with the same title. Seriously... does someone write songs about subjects other than dancing? Can you send me their CD? I think I'd have to hear it to believe it.
Here's where the second incident comes into play. We take a yearly vacation to Snug Harbor, in the Ft. Meyers Beach, Florida area. It's easy to associate this laid-back, palm populated, perfectly peopled Gulf area with Chris Rea's style of music. At least, for me. The day after my arrival, on our most recent trip, I noticed a new CD in the rental car: "The Best of Chris Rea." The next few minutes transpired as such:
Mom: puts CD in player
Me: This is good stuff.
Mom: Yeah, it is.
a few songs pass
Me: OH MY GOD! That's that song! The song! That one song! The "Let's Dance Song!" That one we listened to when we lived in Seattle!
Mom: Yeah... yeah. You remember that?
Me: Yyyeah... of course. When did you get this?
Mom: Yesterday.
Me: Wow.
So, I ended up reuniting with a long-lost childhood friend. He wasn't rich; he didn't have a pool, or money to lend me without interest. It was something better: the magic of a song and an artist I had discovered 15 years earlier. I ended up adding ten of his songs to my iPod when I returned home. And I have to be honest; this has restored my faith in mankind a little. Just a little. Good music'll do that to you. Chris Rea's music remains fresh and vital even today.
When all's said and done, we did end up settling in the Black Hills of South Dakota, though, so I really can't blame Mr. Vedder at all. I love it here. Maybe I'll go buy that new Pearl Jam album tomorrow.
Oh, and another Chris Rea album.
(Addendum: to gain a fuller appreciation for the fine body of work performed by Chris Rea, listen to the songs "The Road to Hell, pt. 1 and 2", "Stainsby Girls", "Looking for the Summer", "I Can Hear Your Heart Beat", "On the Beach", "Julia", and, of course, "Let's Dance".)
Is there a piece of music that reminds you of a particular time and place in your life?
I can think of a song tied to a memory right away. The song?
"Let's Dance," by Chris Rea.
Some might think me sappy or philistine to pick a little-known eighties rock song. Or now you think of me that way because you know it's an eighties rock song. Trust me, I could've easily picked "So What," by Miles Davis. I'll get to you in a minute.
The song fills me with a sense of comfort, joy, and love. This is for two reasons. (Believe it or not, I usually don't wax this Reader's Digest when I write a memoir. That tells you how good Chris Rea is. The man literally exudes thick, lively, sensual coolness out of his guitar and his voice.)
The reasons, or more aptly, incidents occurred roughly 15 years apart. When I was younger, we lived in Seattle, home of Bill Nye the Science Guy, The Space Needle, rain, The Mariners, The Pacific Science Center, coffee, and rain. By younger, I mean my sister and I were driven everywhere by our mother. This lead to many great bonding experiences as we took trips to museums and parks, as well as daily school rides accompanied by tapes of Chris Rea, one of my mom's favorite artists. (the media the music was recorded on should tell you how long ago this was).
In fact, now that I think about it, Seattle was a great place to grow up. Why the hell did we move?
Oh, now I remember.
Grunge.
Thanks, Eddie Vedder. Pearl Jam may be my favorite band of all time, but you guys also made us move to Minnesota. By the way, I still haven't bought your latest album. I heard it's great, though.
Anyway, one poignant memory I have, in particular, is listening to the song "Let's Dance" while riding in the car through the Seattle area in the late eighties. I think it struck me because it was my first real introduction to what a carefully crafted rock song sounded like, recognizable even to my young ears.
Every few years, the memory would surface, as I had none of the original music to listen to: the rain streaming, or the clouds gathering in the mossy districts of the Northwest, riding to school or a museum or park, hearing the crunch and flow of Chris' Fender swirl in the air.
As time passed, I forgot the name of the artist (sorry, Mr. Rea), but I never forgot the name of the song. With the advent of iTunes, I had an opportunity to indulge my 15-year conundrum, but one search for "Let's Dance" gave me more hits than Naomi Campbell. If I were hired as her new assistant. I'm going to be honest: that joke pretty much tripped and fell on its face. Also, needless to say, I had better things to do than wade through a thousand songs with the same title. Seriously... does someone write songs about subjects other than dancing? Can you send me their CD? I think I'd have to hear it to believe it.
Here's where the second incident comes into play. We take a yearly vacation to Snug Harbor, in the Ft. Meyers Beach, Florida area. It's easy to associate this laid-back, palm populated, perfectly peopled Gulf area with Chris Rea's style of music. At least, for me. The day after my arrival, on our most recent trip, I noticed a new CD in the rental car: "The Best of Chris Rea." The next few minutes transpired as such:
Mom: puts CD in player
Me: This is good stuff.
Mom: Yeah, it is.
a few songs pass
Me: OH MY GOD! That's that song! The song! That one song! The "Let's Dance Song!" That one we listened to when we lived in Seattle!
Mom: Yeah... yeah. You remember that?
Me: Yyyeah... of course. When did you get this?
Mom: Yesterday.
Me: Wow.
So, I ended up reuniting with a long-lost childhood friend. He wasn't rich; he didn't have a pool, or money to lend me without interest. It was something better: the magic of a song and an artist I had discovered 15 years earlier. I ended up adding ten of his songs to my iPod when I returned home. And I have to be honest; this has restored my faith in mankind a little. Just a little. Good music'll do that to you. Chris Rea's music remains fresh and vital even today.
When all's said and done, we did end up settling in the Black Hills of South Dakota, though, so I really can't blame Mr. Vedder at all. I love it here. Maybe I'll go buy that new Pearl Jam album tomorrow.
Oh, and another Chris Rea album.
(Addendum: to gain a fuller appreciation for the fine body of work performed by Chris Rea, listen to the songs "The Road to Hell, pt. 1 and 2", "Stainsby Girls", "Looking for the Summer", "I Can Hear Your Heart Beat", "On the Beach", "Julia", and, of course, "Let's Dance".)
posted by Cpt. Mal Reynolds @ 10:04 PM
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