I've had a truly weird experience this evening.
It wasn't an easy day at work, and I've got a "thing" going on between me and my son (my fiancee is involved as well) that isn't going so well, either. After everything quieted down, I spent some time unwinding on the computer. This includes the weekly download of free songs on iTunes. I also peruse the available music, though I don't have the funds to purchase everything I want (why can't students give iTunes cards at Christmas instead of Starbucks cards?).
And it's usually the 80s songs I look at. It's the music I grew up with, the music that represents the fond memories I have of my childhood. No matter what I went through back then--and some of it was pretty bad--I've always looked back with a strong fondness for those times. Working with students, I've come to two conclusions: (a) many of these kids don't know how good they have it, being young; (b) I look back knowing full well how good I had it, and how fun it was. There was a time when I believed that going to heaven meant spending eternity reliving my junior high school years; I don't believe that anymore, since doing so would mean going without my kids, my fiancee, and all the good things that have come since then. If anything, my hope is that heaven is an amalgam of all these things.
But tonight was weird. I found three 80s songs by different artists, each of which were staples on the radio, constants at school dances and house parties, and which more or less defined that decade for me. (They, with other songs, are, quite simply, the soundtrack of my teenhood.) I listened to these three songs (the preview bits, anyway) and they carried with them memories of the past. Images, people, conversations, fashions, and experiences began to wash over me at a pace over which I had no control, forcing themselves into my consciousness. It affected me physically. For several minutes, I was actually nauseous. The memories were that strong.
It is possible, apparently, to overdose on nostalgia.
Observations, rants, and plausible
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
The Village
I AM WRITING!
My Screenplay -- Draft Three
I'm currently reading:
On my Kindle 2
I'm listening to:
iTunes Radio
I'm driving:
The Honda FCX Clarity
Tuesday, February 05, 2008, posted by Q6 at 11:28 PM
3 Comments:
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Post a CommentAt 9:47 PM, 
Ah, a testament to the psychological power of music. I tell people that one of the reasons I like working with teenagers is because they maintain a strong link between the core of their psyche and the music they listen to. Eventually they all get older and concern themselves with "more important things".... Then one day they hear something on the radio you haven't heard in a couple decades and WHOOSH... they're 17 again... just like that.
Here's a bit of dialogue from "Immortal Beloved":
Beethoven: What do you think? Music is... a dreadful thing. What is it? I don't understand it. What does it mean?
Schindler: It - it exalts the soul.
Beethoven: Utter nonsense. If you hear a marching band, is your soul exalted? No, you march. If you hear a waltz, you dance. If you hear a mass, you take communion. It is the power of music to carry one directly into the mental state of the composer. The listener has no choice. It is like hypnotism.
***
BTW: I should show you my pop CD collection sometime. Better yet: my cassette tapes (they live in my office actually). A little treasure trove of long-lost 80's music. I'm sure you'd appreciate it.