When I listen to the music, I don’t listen to the music. I hear the sound of the feeling from the song, from before…
David Grey is quiet moment stolen from the children, loosed off the boat for an afternoon in Ganges, Mike kicking back with a smile and a tea. Norah Jones is a summer afternoon in my mother’s home, Long Island Iced Tea being stirred up in the background. Bedouin Soundclash will always be the best few months of my life on Tortola; Gillian, Clive, Galit, and afternoons wasted, simply wasted at Smuggler’s. 311 is always heading down the freeway in the Civic with Kiffy, speakers just barely drowning out the new SuperTrapp, crashing at his friend’s in Abbotsford, commuting into town to look at every damn Honda and Volkswagen for sale in Vancouver, until finding that one, the black one on 2nd Ave. NOFX is singing Linoleum to myself over and over, walking into town from Pine Valley. Less Than Jake is always Scott’s house on S. 2nd past Boundary, Gary, Josh, and the boys, BMXing into Glendale. Bob Marley is on the tapedeck in the Jetta, a fresh driver’s licence on the way to and from Rose Lake. Dead Milkmen a time with Rob and Leigh, singing in Dana’s kitchen (Life Is Shit!) Ha! Lynn, Dana, and Karen singing Oh Canada in the next room… Metallica puts me right there in Shaun’s basement, a picture-perfect rememberance. Nirvana varies song to song… Smells Like Teen Spirit is the first moment I completely heard it, in Robin White’s Renault, driving out of the back parking lot at Columneetza, passing the windows of Mr. Allnut’s classroom (Doubleblock spare! Headed to the newly-opened Timmy Ho…). Heart Shaped Box is finding out that quiet Krista liked grunge too… and another with her, Lemonheads on an afternoon drive from Nelson to Ainsworth and back, always aware that the music was, in turn, taking her to somewhere else entire. Queen always plays loud and happy in Anna’s Western Ave. family house. Oh, and yes! Nine Inch Nails is a naked bike ride around the Bethel across the street, with a similarly naked Rob jogging behind. Operation Ivy… well shit, besides getting pumped up every trip to Timothy, it’s a certian moment with Take Warning at 11 in the Jenkin’s van heading to Prince George with Cory. Seal’s Crazy, fresh on radio, stuck stuck stuck in my head, walking too many miles from Crescent Valley to Bonnington on a sprained ankle to see Kyla. Another NOFX; coming back from Nelson in Todd’s van, August heat, unwashed bodies, singing at the top of our lungs, driving like fuckers, a load of confused hippie hitchhikers in the back. Moby has me back at The Templeton, along with any other song on their jukebox… The Rebel Spell… any song, anytime, anywhere, and I’m back in Todd’s kitchen off Commercial, listening to the pre-press tape, suddenly transitioning from liking them ’cause they’re my friends to liking them because they fucking rock! And oh shit, anything Troi plays and it’s Hectic Days at the Hectic House (why do good things have to end?). Fugazi is right in harmony with the tattoo machine at Brian’s shop. Macy Gray is my face against the Greyhound glass, earphones, and knowing I was heading south for a break-up. India Arie is heading north with fears confirmed. Did I mention that The Rebel Spell fucking rocks? I’m listening to that right now… Social Distortion are always on the tapedeck on the shelf above the water filter above the patchwork cement above the pit in the Jenkin’s garage; have I listened to them anywhere else? Bad Religion is a fast and nasty drive in Chad’s Suburban; oh yeah, you were there too! Great Big Sea is waking up too early, and in turn, waking up a whole troop of 15-yr old kids too early for day of working the ropes (but don’t forget the captain’s coffee!). Black Crowes is Hot To Handle in the old yellow HiFi Express van, delivering home stereos at excessive speed and volume. Burning Spear and I’m driving back from Chimney with Callie. Interpol and whew, it’s 8 meals in 10 days at DV8, not to mention a night or two falling asleep to it in Carrot Bay, wondering whatever really happened to that Jesse. Fiona Apple is a moment of dejection in Stacey’s bedroom. Jamiroquai is a silly hopeless stupic exstatic moment with her in mine. Breeders is a singular moment on South Lakeside Drive, the curve before the store, realizing that I could play that music too.System Of A Down plays from nowhere in my mind than from the speaker’s of Brian’s van, heading to Rose Lake. Scissor Sisters brings a flash of a forced and plastic downtown westend cocktail party, then a fuller broader rememberance of “The Lounge” with Colleen, Van, Bakes, and Sonja. Peter Tosh, the first CD I ever owned, catching a ride from a neighbor into school. Motley Crue, Whitesnake, shit any hairband, and I’m back in grade 9 on the morning schoolbus. Trooper, yes live Trooper, and I’m right back there at the prom in Fraser Lake… (you know your star is fading when you’re playing for a 40-student grad class in bumfuck nowhere). Speaking of which, Donovan (Mellow Yellow, anyone?) and it’s folding chairs in the old WLJS gym. Funny, out of all possible memories, hearing NSQ always ALWAYS takes me back to that Battle of the Bands, seeing Candice for the first time in ages, walking through the crowd (cardigan, long khaki skirt, a pair of square silver sequins in the eyeliner)(why/how do I remember this shit?). Yeah, where do the memories come from? What about all the other tossed thoughts that come only when the sounds are heard? Play me another song, and I’ll tell you what I see.
Scent would be a whole other discussion, more nebulous, more passionate, more intense and yet diffuse; could we relate at all? But we all hear the music, concrete rockin’ music, a pulse in the blood… we all hear the memories… or is it just me? What do you remember?