Us and Them and the Rest

Following a rather intense, but mostly fun-filled reunion weekend, I’m sitting at O’Hare airport relaxing to the tunes on my laptop. My short layover has been lengthened to some unexpected free time in Chicago. If any of you have the Echoes collection or any other Pink Floyd albums for that matter, you  probably already know where I’m going with this entry. A proverbial trip down memory lane is inevitably in order.

I was reading a neuroscientist’s approach to music and the brain just now. He discussed a nice historic account of 6 different staples of emotions, from Love to Anger and everything in between. I, was mildly interested, but mostly because the read repeated fundamental knowledge of what we already know about emotions elicited specifically from music. I’ve always been fairly astute at finding appropriate music in my mind’s eye (or, I guess, ear) either during situations or even when there was nothing to actually play it on. Music, to me, exists in nicely stored packages in the mind.

And, for all intensive purposes, music comes from within, deep within. I think some people even exude music naturally without even having knowledge of their own innate gift. Still, others completely embrace and acknowledge their emotional connections to their favorite songs in ways more personal than almost anything on earth. Currently, my headphones are just now piping in Learning to Fly (P. Floyd) into my willing ears and I am channeling emotions of driving through corn-lined, blue skied, crisply refreshing open air roads in the midwest circa 1991. I can’t help but let it take me there.

To me, nothing else in this world can do what music does to me when it comes to memories. I’ve categorized entire years of my existence based on a few key albums from every era. 1989 was all about the Staring at the Sea Singles (The Cure), Metallica (Kill ‘em All/Ride the Lightning), and New Order’s Substance with, of course, some Dead Kennedys, Def Leppard, and The Doors thrown in for good measure. I remember it like it was yesterday, or at least, a few days ago. This weekend brought it all even closer in memories and, sometimes, I found mere people reminding me of a song. I take great solace in the comfort of knowing a memory is only a song away.

So now, as I sit here in O’Hare’s terminal K, my media player cues Hey You (more Floyd) and I can’t help but drift. Back to study hall during my sophomore year in high school this time.  Walkman in hand, I found a way to listen to The Wall enough times to hear it daily and regularly in my brain. But, this time, it was blaring at 10 as I slept, overworked by some test I pressured myself to do well on. See, it’s all right back in front of me, at the tip of a memory synapse, with the speed of a single  note. This is the power of music and it couldn’t be more appropriate for me to break out these tracks right now.

To the old high school cohort I saw this past weekend, it was great to have crossed paths with you again. 20 years is a healthy chunk of time, so I hope to see you around again in the more near future. In the name of rock, post-, punk, and all things auditorially pleasing, be well all.