It's a humid summer evening in Lewiston and my friends and I join in with a thousand other voices singing the chorus to "Come Sail Away." The sunset over the Niagara Gorge is breathtaking. Though I'm not even a Styx fan per se, something about the epic guitar solos and keyboard riffs combined with the magic of that night comforts me. This is bliss.
Suddenly the song ends and I'm thrust back into just another wintry Buffalo day, riding the bus to class and listening to my iPod. Little did I know that sneaking into the Styx show that summer night nearly two years earlier would become one of the fondest memories of my youth.
I may never be able to physically relive that moment, but whenever I hear that particular song, my mind immediately sends itself back to that night. For six minutes and five seconds I'm back there, singing along with a sea of lighters swaying overhead.
It continues to amaze me just how powerful the nostalgic value of music can be. How just a combination of sound waves can trigger our brains to recollect certain sights, tastes, smells, and even emotions so intensely and accurately will always be my favorite of life's many mysteries.
Every time I hear The Beatles, Billy Joel, or Simon and Garfunkel, I see myself sitting on my living room floor clutching my Jurassic Park action figures and Stretch Armstrong while watching in amazement as the needle moves across the record's surface. Any time I hear Green Day, Smash Mouth or Third Eye Blind I find myself back in elementary school, itching to get home and play Nintendo 64. Streetlight Manifesto, Modest Mouse, Dispatch and Against Me! defined my high school listening career, evoking fond memories of track practices, backyard bonfires and all those summer nights spent at Mighty Taco.
The Clash's London Calling was the first thing I listened to the day I got my license, and it will always be my favorite album to blast while driving around on a hot summer day. Catch 22's Keasbey Nights and Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea will forever be engrained in my psyche as powerful symbols of my youth. It's this music that often makes me long for those simpler, more innocent times.
Then there was the first time I ever heard a Bob Dylan album. On one of the many long bus rides home from a cross country meet, one of my teammates convinced me to play The Times They Are A-Changin'. It was like nothing I had ever heard before.
There was something so intimate about that unpolished voice, the simple, yet penetrating chord progressions and biting harmonica solos. The lyrics were magnificently insightful, and so personal. I felt as though everything I'd ever wanted to say but didn't know how was coming out of that stereo right then and there. I had never heard anything so beautiful and so timeless in my entire life. From that moment on, I was hooked.
I collected vinyls and bootlegs. I listened to his passionate live recordings. I tried my best to understand his lengthy career defined by a slew of diverse personas, each offering something new and different.
It wasn't long before Bob became less of a hero or a role model of mine, but more of a friend that I could turn to whenever I needed some time alone. Seeing the 66-year-old legend stand on a dim-lit stage in Syracuse and dispense some of the greatest songs ever written was one of the defining moments of my life.
It was hard to imagine, looking at that old man hunched over a keyboard and pouring his heart into a harmonica solo, that anyone would ever boo him off stage just for playing what he wanted to play. It was hard to imagine that this one man could embody so many personas, create so many ideas, and invent entire genres of music at a whim.
I often think about how some day, after I'm dead and gone, the music that I listened to along the way will still exist. It fills me with a sense of permanence, knowing that years from now people will still be marveling at the songwriting of Dylan and The Beatles, or singing "Don't Stop Believing" at the top of their lungs, just as I have done, and will continue to do, countless more times.
It boggles my mind to know that even though so much amazing music has already been created, there are still masterpieces out there that haven't yet been thought of. Hundreds of years ago as people rocked out to Mozart, how could they have been able to comprehend bands like The Rolling Stones?
Perhaps someday our children will look back on The White Stripes, The Arcade Fire or Radiohead with the same fondness that we feel for the great artists of our parents' generation.
This stuff is timeless, and I encourage anyone to embark on his or her own musical journey. I've been fortunate enough to hear and experience what I have so far in my twenty years of existence, and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon.
Photo: Courtesy of Laron Fomby
