Power of Music

I’ve been musing about music lately.

My radio station of choice seems to be playing a lot of older music recently. Or maybe they always have, but my hour commute each day has given me more quality time with my radio station.

(And to clarify — by older music, I mean music from my early teen years to high school. Not that that’s old; really, I’m not trying to offend.)

Music is so powerful — so much more so than even writing — I often wish I had the musical talents of my friends: Brian, Tony, Emily, and of course, the great Adam Young.

When an early Pink or Limp Bizkit song comes on, I’m instantly transported to Emily (Sorheim) Smith’s gray Oldsmobile. My sister is in the front seat; Josh and I are the backseat, scheming about how to steal Emily’s car once we park somewhere.

When I hear Bryan Adams’ “Summer of ’69,” I’m in the blue ghetto van. My sister is a senior in high school; I’m a freshman. We’re cruising with the windows down, and whenever she makes a hard left, I have to catch the Fig Newtons that are sliding across the dashboard.

 A few days ago, Brett and I heard a Destiny’s Child song. Not Beyonce — Destiny’s Child. I’m back in my elementary school classroom, and the boys are constantly pleading, “Say my name, say my name” in their best Beyonce voice.

Jimmy Eat World’s “The Middle” reminds me of the summer of Andrew Souba. Enough said.

Nickleback’s “How You Remind Me”— Mike Smith. I just have this memory of MSN instant messaging (you know, back when anytime the phone rang, you got kicked off the internet — and it took a few minutes for each message to send) with Mike and my other junior high friends and listening to “How You Remind Me” on repeat. It was my favorite song for most of eighth grade.

And then there’s Vertical Horizon’s “Everything You Want.” The blue ghetto van is now mine. The song was a few years old, but it seemed to constantly be on the radio when Emily and I would drive to the beach every day of the summer. Our windows were rolled down, and we’d forget it was now summer and the people we’d talk about walking down the street could hear our snide remarks. Oh, and it was now Emily’s job to catch the sliding Fig Newtons.

Whenever I hear those opening guitar strums of “Eye of the Tiger,” I’m a freshman in college again. Brett, Emily, and I have costumed ourselves into ‘80’s rockers and are filming ourselves in the basement of my parent’s house. For the integrity of the movie, I even folded myself into their dryer.

I hear All American Rejects’ “Give you Hell” and I automatically change the words to “give you joy,” because my roommate Holly once quipped, “that’s not very nice. I hope when you see my face it gives you joy!”

I remember tears rolling down my face as I drove back to Northwestern, my giant bag of laundry riding shotgun. Spring break ended, and it was dark—I’d waited as long as possible to make the trip back to school. On I-35, somewhere between Northfield and Lakeville…maybe, I stopped watching the exits. “Wait for Me” by Theory of a Dead Man came on. I knew it would only be a few months before I was home from college forever, but the song was a little too close to home. And now that song brings me back to that lonely car ride.

Ke$ha’s “Tik Tok” makes me wake up feeling like P. Diddy, and I’m back dancing in my dorm room with Amy and Alyssa.

The opening notes of “Final Countdown” and I see Gob Bluth’s jazz hands during his magic tricks…I mean illusions. Or Heidi Rust playing that song nonstop during finals week.

And finally, Nelly’s “Just a Dream” puts me in Brett’s truck this summer before we’re married. Anytime we heard this song, we sang along with Nelly and put our hands on the roof whenever he commanded, “If you’ve ever loved somebody, put your hands up.”

It’s almost funny how easily these memories flood me with just a few guitar riffs or an opening line. So powerful.

What special memories do you associate with songs?