I've always believed that my heart needs music like my lungs need oxygen. I like to think that my need to attach a song to every event/phase in my life, like a soundtrack, is greater than anyone else's. It's that same need that helps me identify with one of my favorite characters on TV, and when someone is saying, "Oh yeah, I really like that song, too," it's the voice in my head saying, "You don't understand. I need that song."
Long ago, I fell into the habit of finding a song I liked and listening to it on repeat. Over and over and over again. My friends are probably divided into two camps: those that love that feature of mine, and those that can't stand it when we're riding in the car together.
I distinctly remember going with a group of girls to an N*SYNC concert in sixth grade. On the way there, the boy band was blasting in the van. While I'd like to be cool and say that I never liked N*SYNC, I can't. I liked them and I was happy to be invited along to the concert. But what I needed to hear was "Shimmer" by Fuel. The album with that song wasn't exactly twelve-year-old friendly, but I had it, and I loved it. I put my Walkman's headphones on and played my song in the van on the way to the concert. Because the day wasn't okay if I couldn't hear it, no matter what else I was doing. I even printed the lyrics to the song on a piece of paper, folded it up, and kept it in my pocket. My friends thought it was weird. I needed the song to be close to me. It became a part of my life like only the best songs can.
Since then, there have been a lot of songs I've needed to play over and over and over again. After I'm done wearing them out, some of them go onto my regular playlist for me to hear frequently, while some get temporarily forgotten about until I joyfully stumble on them later. Two years ago, I got the Alter Bridge CD "Blackbird" for Christmas. After listening to the whole album once, I found a song I needed to hear repeatedly. For a few weeks, every time I was in the car, I played "Watch Over You" on a loop.
During those same few weeks, a friend of mine from high school committed suicide. We weren't close friends any longer, though I had run into him a few times. While I drove around in the days after hearing the news, "Watch Over You" was the only thing that played. The lyrics didn't really fit the situation, it was just what I was playing repeatedly at the time. So as I drove to see friends, to the funeral home, to take care of errands that seemed empty in my shock and grief, it played. And while I got lost in thoughts of the conversations, memories and inside jokes I shared with Alex, it played. When my heart was eventually done with the song, I put the disc back into the case and it got lost and forgotten about in the car.
About a year later, Brian and I were headed to play cards with friends and wanted to listen to something other than the radio. We started digging through the CDs in the car and I found my old Alter Bridge album. I told him that I had really liked it before, so we put it in and stopped to buy refreshments - and then the first bars of "Watch Over You" started playing while I was sitting in the store's parking lot. I instantly felt waves of sadness and pain and couldn't understand why I suddenly felt that way. It had been a good, lazy Sunday, we were about to get some Doritos, and we were going to play euchre. Nothing sad about that.
It took about fifteen seconds for me to recognize the song through my confusion, but I still didn't understand why it made me feel so upset. We went into the grocery store, walked around and started making our purchase before the realization fell on me: in my head and heart, that song was the soundtrack to the death of Alex, even though I hadn't realized it at the time.
Music connects you to people, places, situations and phases in your life, often unintentionally. A song can evoke a feeling in you that you aren't even conscious of - those familiar first notes can bring stronger feelings than you are capable of conjuring up on your own.
Long ago, I fell into the habit of finding a song I liked and listening to it on repeat. Over and over and over again. My friends are probably divided into two camps: those that love that feature of mine, and those that can't stand it when we're riding in the car together.
I distinctly remember going with a group of girls to an N*SYNC concert in sixth grade. On the way there, the boy band was blasting in the van. While I'd like to be cool and say that I never liked N*SYNC, I can't. I liked them and I was happy to be invited along to the concert. But what I needed to hear was "Shimmer" by Fuel. The album with that song wasn't exactly twelve-year-old friendly, but I had it, and I loved it. I put my Walkman's headphones on and played my song in the van on the way to the concert. Because the day wasn't okay if I couldn't hear it, no matter what else I was doing. I even printed the lyrics to the song on a piece of paper, folded it up, and kept it in my pocket. My friends thought it was weird. I needed the song to be close to me. It became a part of my life like only the best songs can.
Since then, there have been a lot of songs I've needed to play over and over and over again. After I'm done wearing them out, some of them go onto my regular playlist for me to hear frequently, while some get temporarily forgotten about until I joyfully stumble on them later. Two years ago, I got the Alter Bridge CD "Blackbird" for Christmas. After listening to the whole album once, I found a song I needed to hear repeatedly. For a few weeks, every time I was in the car, I played "Watch Over You" on a loop.
During those same few weeks, a friend of mine from high school committed suicide. We weren't close friends any longer, though I had run into him a few times. While I drove around in the days after hearing the news, "Watch Over You" was the only thing that played. The lyrics didn't really fit the situation, it was just what I was playing repeatedly at the time. So as I drove to see friends, to the funeral home, to take care of errands that seemed empty in my shock and grief, it played. And while I got lost in thoughts of the conversations, memories and inside jokes I shared with Alex, it played. When my heart was eventually done with the song, I put the disc back into the case and it got lost and forgotten about in the car.
About a year later, Brian and I were headed to play cards with friends and wanted to listen to something other than the radio. We started digging through the CDs in the car and I found my old Alter Bridge album. I told him that I had really liked it before, so we put it in and stopped to buy refreshments - and then the first bars of "Watch Over You" started playing while I was sitting in the store's parking lot. I instantly felt waves of sadness and pain and couldn't understand why I suddenly felt that way. It had been a good, lazy Sunday, we were about to get some Doritos, and we were going to play euchre. Nothing sad about that.
It took about fifteen seconds for me to recognize the song through my confusion, but I still didn't understand why it made me feel so upset. We went into the grocery store, walked around and started making our purchase before the realization fell on me: in my head and heart, that song was the soundtrack to the death of Alex, even though I hadn't realized it at the time.
Music connects you to people, places, situations and phases in your life, often unintentionally. A song can evoke a feeling in you that you aren't even conscious of - those familiar first notes can bring stronger feelings than you are capable of conjuring up on your own.
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| Alex and me, 2005. | "Who will give you strength when you're not strong? / Who'll watch over you when I've gone away? / Snow is on the ground / Winter's come / You long to hear my voice / But I'm long gone" - Alter Bridge, "Watch Over You" |
Love it!! I'm a freak about music too. Certain songs totally take me back to specific times in my life. I'm also a big "repeater" but mostly when I'm alone :). Thanks so much for sharing...I'm excited to get to know you through your writing :)
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