The sounds of music...
It's funny how hearing a specific song can transport you to a time, place and company from your past.
Take Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nevermind was a seminal album for me, reminiscent of having passed my driving test and driving my first car (a navy blue mini christened Sebastian after the lead singer of Skid Row), my first proper boyfriend (who I won't name) and my eager steps into adulthood (the last two are NOT related by the way).
James' Sit Down, always played (several times) at any after-lesson gathering of more than four boarders at our all-girls' school, played no fewer than five times at our sixth form prom. I can practically guarantee that still none of them knows more than the chorus.
Then there's I Believe in a Thing Called Love - the birth of man rock sung by the gorgeous Justin, a genre like the best bits of Queen, Kiss and Kate Bush rolled together - a time when I met my husband, father of my children who will never be seen in a Lycra jumpsuit. It's "our song" actually, although I'm not entirely sure how you would dance to it at a wedding.
I have an encyclopedic memory for song lyrics, impressive and, I like to think, enviable. I'm always astounded that I retain such knowledge when things that would be really useful such as algebra and German declensions, now my girls are in school, have departed this mortal cranium.
I'm of an age where I consider myself entitled to adopt that embarrassing mum habit of singing along to songs in the company of the mini-me's friends. It's paying forward for when my mum sang as we wandered around Chelsea Girl, and the girls will no doubt do it to their daughters. Consider it a family legacy.
I find myself chanting the word "TUNE" a lot during Old Skool Classics and the like. My husband and I will also ask each other repeatedly "do you remember this?" when we're taking a retro trip through Spotify. The '90s were incredible.
I like to think I went up in my daughters' estimations a little when Sing came out - even though they knew it was the first time I had seen the film, somehow I knew all the songs. That's right girlies, your Mummy is a-ma-zing!
Yes, I'm old enough to remember when Bryan Adams was number one for the best part of a year. Yes, I too have listened to the chart show with a blank cassette loaded into my (front loading) radio/tape player, and my finger poised over the pause button ready to release it as soon as the DJ stopped crashing the vocals. I remember a time when we believed performances were live, even though there was no wire to the instruments or microphones, and when no one even suspected that George Michael was gay.
There's been a soundtrack to my life, from the Motown and Irish trad tunes of my childhood, through the dance tunes of the 80s, the Brit Pop 90s, the brief sojourn into R&B (and back out again) in the 00s, and the self-selecting songs of this decade.
Earphones in.
Volume up.
Ignore the world.
Take Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nevermind was a seminal album for me, reminiscent of having passed my driving test and driving my first car (a navy blue mini christened Sebastian after the lead singer of Skid Row), my first proper boyfriend (who I won't name) and my eager steps into adulthood (the last two are NOT related by the way).
James' Sit Down, always played (several times) at any after-lesson gathering of more than four boarders at our all-girls' school, played no fewer than five times at our sixth form prom. I can practically guarantee that still none of them knows more than the chorus.
Then there's I Believe in a Thing Called Love - the birth of man rock sung by the gorgeous Justin, a genre like the best bits of Queen, Kiss and Kate Bush rolled together - a time when I met my husband, father of my children who will never be seen in a Lycra jumpsuit. It's "our song" actually, although I'm not entirely sure how you would dance to it at a wedding.
I have an encyclopedic memory for song lyrics, impressive and, I like to think, enviable. I'm always astounded that I retain such knowledge when things that would be really useful such as algebra and German declensions, now my girls are in school, have departed this mortal cranium.
I'm of an age where I consider myself entitled to adopt that embarrassing mum habit of singing along to songs in the company of the mini-me's friends. It's paying forward for when my mum sang as we wandered around Chelsea Girl, and the girls will no doubt do it to their daughters. Consider it a family legacy.
I find myself chanting the word "TUNE" a lot during Old Skool Classics and the like. My husband and I will also ask each other repeatedly "do you remember this?" when we're taking a retro trip through Spotify. The '90s were incredible.
I like to think I went up in my daughters' estimations a little when Sing came out - even though they knew it was the first time I had seen the film, somehow I knew all the songs. That's right girlies, your Mummy is a-ma-zing!
Yes, I'm old enough to remember when Bryan Adams was number one for the best part of a year. Yes, I too have listened to the chart show with a blank cassette loaded into my (front loading) radio/tape player, and my finger poised over the pause button ready to release it as soon as the DJ stopped crashing the vocals. I remember a time when we believed performances were live, even though there was no wire to the instruments or microphones, and when no one even suspected that George Michael was gay.
There's been a soundtrack to my life, from the Motown and Irish trad tunes of my childhood, through the dance tunes of the 80s, the Brit Pop 90s, the brief sojourn into R&B (and back out again) in the 00s, and the self-selecting songs of this decade.
Earphones in.
Volume up.
Ignore the world.
Comments
Post a Comment
Thanks for ranting!