Tennessee Williams once said, "In memory, everything seems to happen to music." In regards to the soundtrack unendingly playing in each of our lives, this statement is undeniably true. Often times, it is rarely the microscopic details of an event that are remembered. When thinking back on a special occasion, particularly a difficult time or radiantly happy one, we are more likely to remember what song was playing on the radio or what band was singing a hit than we are the minute details of the individual event.
Thinking back on my relatively short 19 years, I can remember certain treasured moments in my life by the music I heard while they were happening. These songs often have no obvious connection to the specific activity or point in time, but they harbor such important connotations that I can't help but be brought back whenever certain parts of my musical collection are played.
Memories of my seven-year stint as an Irish dancer, for example, are accompanied not by traditional Irish reels, jigs and hornpipes, but by the once-upon-a-time heartthrob sounds of Hanson. My best friend at the time (also a dancer) and I sang along continually to "Mmmbop" with the trio's first real album release Middle of Nowhere indefinitely woven into my recollections of that time of my life. Hanson was playing when we hung out after dance practice, it was in the CD player when we spent seemingly endless hours in the car on the way to dance competitions and the music video was on TV when we went through the tedious process of achieving the traditional Irish dancer curls. When this friend's mother passed away in August, it was Hanson's Middle of Nowhere that I played on my iPod — not because the band offered any particularly consoling lyrics or comforting melodies, but because those 12 tracks bring back memories of a wonderful time of my life. They let me remember a woman who had an important presence in my childhood.
People say that some of our strongest memories are tied to the sense of smell. I'd like to disagree, asserting the memories seared most strongly in my mind are connected to and triggered by the music that was playing at the time they occurred. Third Eye Blind's self-titled album brings me back to the spring of my senior year of high school. Its songs were the ones playing in my car as I was driving to dear old Brown Deer High, praying that the school year would hurry up and be over. "Graduate" was the song my friends and I played before starting the commencement ceremony. Any time I listen to that album now, I can not only remember the actual aforementioned time, but also can smell the spring air and feel all over again the excitement, relief and anxiety associated with graduating high school and moving on to bigger and better things.
College brought about, of course, countless new memories and consequently, countless new songs. The soundtrack of my freshman year, subject to a fair share of ridicule by a certain Badger Herald opinion editor, was Sign of the Dollar by Madison's The Profits. The thought of that album brings me back to the crush I had on that seemingly perfect guy in one of my classes, back to getting ready before heading out for the night with the girls, back to the late nights at the library. In a kind of roundabout way, that music was how I started my involvement with The Badger Herald. That album, along with a handful of others, was my freshman year.
Certain songs or types of music also have the tendency to latch on to specific people in each of our lives. Thanks to a particularly ridiculous and fantastic inside joke, "Reunited" by Peaches and Herb conjures up memories of my best friend. While plenty of other music has played during our countless adventures, the sweet crooning of that duo reminds me of our eight-year friendship in a way that no other alternative rock band or popular rap song could. In the same way, some of the best conversations I have ever had with my father occurred with the Beach Boys, Bob Dylan and Blondie blaring in the background. To me, those musicians have my dad's face branded on them.
Music has an undeniable force on our memories, vividly bringing us back to various points in our lives and reminding us of the things, people and places that have touched us the most.
In the same way that music reminds us of specific events and people, particular occurrences cause us to think of certain songs. Thinking back, I find myself adding in music I deem appropriate for various situations. My first real break up, for example, turns my memory to the overly emotional and all-too-comforting sounds of bands like Dashboard Confessional and the Early November. Hearing "Standard Lines" or "Ever So Sweet" now remind me of that relationship, not necessarily because those songs were playing during the break up, but more so because they encompass the feelings and thoughts I experienced at that time.
Music seems to be a constant in each of our everyday lives. It serves as the catalyst for memories, connecting us to the people and events of both our past and present. The CD you currently can't stop playing or the song you just can't seem to get out of your head will one day serve as tokens of the things you are experiencing now. So pay attention to what you're listening to — it will only serve to amplify your memories in the future.
Laura Stanelle is a sophomore planning on majoring in Journalism. Her memories of The Badger Herald will be supported by Meatloaf's "I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)." Questions or comments can be directed to her at [email protected].
