Music Linked to Memory

"Every man's memory is his private literature."
- Aldous Huxley

Sharing memories is universal. And I have always taken great pleasure in sharing memories, even if it's only with myself. As I've mentioned before, I keep a lot of journals. It's not enough to just write in them for me though, I also go back and read them. I love realizing how much I've grown, or just remembering something hilarious that happened years ago.

In this vein, I've decided to dedicate my Wednesdays to sharing memories. (And, shh, don't tell, but this is sort of my concession to not posting any of my fiction of this blog.)

To kick things off, here are a series of memories I have linked to specific songs. Music is a huge part of my life. Pretty much everyone in my family loves good music, and any time we spend hanging out together will invariably be accompanied by it. Finding new music has found me new friends. Having music tastes in common with my boyfriend makes our road trips a hell of a lot shorter too!

After the cut, a growing list of songs and the memories they induce.

Benny Goodman's "Memories of You": My grandparents are swaying together in the middle of their living room. He has a drink in his hand. She is murmuring the words. My aunts and uncles, cousins, parents, friends.. fill the house. Everything is warm and suffused with a kind of delicious happiness that never lasts long enough.

It is a Sunday morning and I wake up to the high, bright sounds of Handel's "Messiah". The smell of cooking bacon and fresh coffee seeps into my room. There is a cat waiting for me at the top of the stairs, his tail flicking lazily as he follows me down to the kitchen. My father sits at the dining room table with the paper. He drinks orange juice and mouths the words as my mother brings in a plate of pancakes and maple syrup. I rub the sleep from my eyes and smile at the morning sunshine.

"Ramblin' Man" by the Allman Brothers: It is summer at the lake. The air is soft and heavy. The water is warm and I stand near shore with it wrapped around my ankles, loving the sunshine across my shoulders and the sound of my mother and aunts chattering under the pine trees. There is beer and soda and pizza from Raymond. My brother is building something in the sand and the twins are sharing music on the outdoor couches. The stereo plays slightly scratchy rock 'n' roll from decades ago, but I feel that it fits perfectly in this hazy other-world of escape.

"Dance This Mess Around" by the B-52s: I am feeling excellent because I have had two glasses of wine and we are all sitting at the dining room table playing cards after dinner. My parents' childhood friend is here. He is singing along to the stereo. My father is turning the volume up. My mother is saying, "You remember when..?" My brother and I are grinning at each other across the table.

"Gimme Danger" by Iggy Pop and the Stooges: Three in the morning and I have school at seven-thirty. I am sixteen. I stand in front of my floor-length mirror in a short skirt, platform shoes, black t-shirt and black nail polish. I am brushing my hair sideways. My eyes flash with glitter and eyeliner. Iggy sings and I sigh. I want to moan. I want to dance. I want to be somewhere in the dark of a club with my glam rock gods singing on-stage. I am thinking about the word 'worship' and I am wondering how I can write all of this down before it escapes my mind. My fingertips are tingling when I hit the repeat button on my remote.

R.E.M.'s "Sweetness Follows": I am sitting on a school bus with my high school crew team. We are driving through New York and the countryside is flashing by. Blurs of grass and trees and cars and hills. I lean my forehead against the window. The song is beautiful. My thoughts are quiet in order to listen to it. I glance up at the sky and it is very, very blue.

"Heal the World" by Michael Jackson: I am maybe six or seven. I think I am supposed to be cleaning what is certainly my very messy room, but instead I am lying on the carpet with my ear pressed to the floor. Downstairs, my mother is actually cleaning with Michael Jackson on the stereo. I dig my fingers into the carpet while I am listening to the idealistic words and I feel like my too-young heart is breaking in two because he is singing my thoughts and somehow everything is sad and hopeful and I don't understand why I feel so much all at once.

"Every Time We Touch" by Cascada: Freshman year and I am in my roomate's car with her and two of our friends. We have just driven to and from Rhode Island for no particular reason other than to be in the car. As we come into town, Cascada comes on the radio and suddenly the volume is all the way up and the windows are open and we're singing in that pure four-teenage-girls-high-on-life kind of way. Singing.. shrieking. What's the difference, really? We're all happy and we're too young and silly to pretend otherwise.

"Both Sides Now" by Joni Mitchell: California. We're driving along Big Sur. The sky is open and the ocean is endless. The road winds and rises and lowers. I am sitting in the backseat with my toys and notebooks, but all I want to do is look out the window and drink in the cliffs and the sudden drops to hidden beaches. The crash of surf. The specks of birds wheeling over the water. Weather too far off to really see yet. Later there will be a walk down town and chocolate and the sound of my parents talking over my head as my brother and I concoct stories out of nothing to amuse ourselves. But right now, Joni is singing and I still can't imagine anywhere I'd rather be.

Do you associate memory with music at all? Tell me about it in the comments.