After reading a few posts focusing on how music can bring back so many memories of pivotal relationships, people and memories, I started to think about my own life and the music I would choose to relive certain moments through. This excited me and terrified me in equal measure, I’m a very emotional and sentimental person and am used to not sparing on many details!
I adore music, and I’d be lost without it. When I was younger I used to lay in bed and close my eyes, listen to music and imagine a scene playing against the song. Sometimes it would be my 13 year old self storming into a room, looking absolutely sassy fabulous, (wearing a dress that my mum could never afford and makeup I could never master) and obviously the guy I secretly really liked would realize I was in fact incredible and he’d have to instantly become my boyfriend.
Sometimes I’d pretend I was performing to lots of people, after I stopped singing publicly and I lost all confidence in my singing ability and I never sang properly again. When my Grandma passed away, and I didn’t understand how to cope with the grief, I’d pretend we were dancing at my wedding, or she was dancing with my Grandad somewhere. I’d blare music to drown out the fighting we were subjected to night after night- my sister and I shared a room and we would start of playlists at the same time so we were listening in time to each other.
I developed a taste in music I became quite proud of, because it was mine. An eclectic mix of influences, discovered either myself or through the recommendations of friends, relatives, colleagues. And as music has provided an incredible soundtrack to my life, I decided to share those moments and the music I hold so close to my heart.
This will be the first of two posts. The first will explain the reasons I love music so very much, and some of the songs my younger self loved. The second will delve into the memories of the people, the fucks, the snatched moments, capturing of hearts and picking up the pieces.
Growing
My main musical influence was my mother. Growing up I remember hearing Fairground by Simply Red, Don’t You Want Me by Human League, Perfect by Fairground Attraction and Bat out of Hell by Meatloaf. We watched Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Commitments and The Blues Brothers. Although Meatloaf quickly became my favourite artist (at 12 years old), my mothers main influence was enabling me to unashamedly like whatever music I choose to, and not follow what my friends thought was ‘cool’ (shocker, I was never a ‘cool’ kid). I borrowed my mums old CDs (Guns N’ Roses, Aerosmith, Meatloaf, Alice Cooper, Duran Duran, along with general hit compilations from the 70s and 80s) and listened for myself and decided what I enjoyed and what I didn’t. I knew all of the words to every song on Bat out of Hell by the time I was 13, saw him in concert when I was 14 when my friends were listening to whatever was in the charts (which I never really followed).
We watch Top of the Pops 2 together, or get tipsy and put on my Spotify playlist and it never fails to amuse her how I remember all of those songs we used to listen to.
If I were to choose one song that brings me right back to hearing music in the house when I was growing up, it would definitely be Rotterdam by Beautiful South. I remember looking in the road atlas, which I’d stolen and put in my room for general reading as we no longer had a car, and I could never find Rotterdam…. This puzzled me for a few too many years.
And I can’t bear myself to not include one of my favourite songs from Bat Out Of Hell (yes they are all my favourite). I picked this one for the story: the reminiscing of promises of ‘paradise by the dashboard light’, and just as he’s about to orgasm she stops him and says she won’t proceed unless he marries her, which he frustratingly ends up promising to do and they then live with the consequences. I think this is why I loved Meatloaf so much, for Jim Steinman’s storytelling
Discovery
My wonderful aforementioned mother has made my life infinitely better in lots of ways. She gave me proper, honest sex education- on having sex for pleasure, not just for biological reproduction. She reiterated the ways to avoid biological reproduction, and what to do if I was ever worried. An example: one on occasion after sex with my partner I came home and noticed I was bleeding. I went to the bathroom and my mum asked me what was wrong. ‘Had sex, I’m now bleeding‘ I yelled from the toilet.
I heard her come up the stairs and ask how much, and as she opened the door I just showed her the tissue full of my blood . After the conversation which followed we realised it was a lack of lubrication, matched with fingering and and irritation from a condone that caused the spotting. She bought me lube and I never used dotted condoms again.
But the first time she made an immeasurable contribution to my life (at this point I’m very young and obviously carrying me in her womb, having to bear over 24 hours of labour, and keeping me alive until this stage are not a consideration) was the first time she introduced me to her favourite book, which is also her favourite film. We watch the film every Christmas.
That film is Watership Down, with the title song obviously being Bright Eyes by Art Garfunkel. I remember listening to this song, after the special level of emotional turmoil only Watership Down can produce, and recognising the singer. ‘Don’t tell me, don’t tell me!‘ I beg Mum and start to rustle though her CDs, picking a compilation CD and playing Bridge Over Troubled Water. ‘Is this the same singer?‘
And that’s when it started. I listened to the track Bridge Over Troubled Water over and over, before finding a copy of Graceland in a charity shop and a copy of Bridge Over Troubled Water on my Uncle’s CD shelf. They both became my favourite albums of all time (this story may become more relevant in the second post). You Can Call Me Al became the top of my karaoke repertoir, Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes became the song I listened to whilst simultaneously dancing and preparing my tea, and Bridge Over Troubled Water became the familiar shoulder to cry on.
My favourite version of this is one of the first time it was played live in 1969. Alongside the announcement that it’s one of their new songs, it Erie quiet as no one cheers or claps when they start the introduction . The crowd don’t recognise the famous, instantly recognisable, piano introduction. But it is the reaction at the end that gets me everytime.
Broadening
The second revelation in music was from my Grandad. I lived with him in Spain for a month when I was 14, and again when I was 15. I worked in a bar, and tried to practice my Spanish, and in turn the English tried to practice their Spanish on me too. Perhaps it wasn’t ideal, but it boosted my confidence at the time I began transitioning to a young adult in my mentality.
My Grandad would take me out for the day, or for coffee or dinner, and he’d try to make me order my food, pay for drinks or ask for bus tickets in Spanish. We’d listen to music and drink sangria as he taught me Spanish. It was on one of these warm August evenings he first played me Tony Bennett, then Frank Sinatra, followed by Dean Martin. Then he played Mr Bojangles, by Sammy Davis Jr.
We drank and danced on his patio. We whistled, as my Granny looked on in amusement at watching me swirl in my skirt, and Grandad try to dance (he was really very good, and at this point I hadn’t twigged he was indulging in the odd brandy or two between each sangria). I retold this story to my family when he passed away in 2011, and we played it on the same patio, with sangria in the same jug, and I danced in one of my swishy skirts. We all laughed at the time he’d tried to explain the story to me and to my mum before me, after a few brandies in on each occasion, as when we reached the part about his dog he could only respond with ‘well the only thing in his life, his bloody dog, got up and bloody died.’ Now whenever we hear that song (as I did two weeks ago when my Mum, Granny and I were reunited), we have a little chuckle about ‘the bloody dog that got up and bloody died!’
Recently, we had a shock family bereavement. A fantastic member of my family, who was the most joyous, vivacious, wonderful person left us far too soon. I travelled down to my family home to help my family out with everything, whether providing support financially, physically and mentally. I spent a wonderful week (given the circumstances) with my Grandmother, Uncle and Mother which hasn’t happened in such a long time.
We drank wine, they drank gin and we reminisced and before long I had learned so much about my family, my Grandmother especially. Being part of a forces family, she only spent 10 weeks in the UK during my Grandad’s career and had some great stories to tell of her travels and her mischievous youth. She recalled the tale of meeting my Grandad whilst he was a friend of her brother, starting to ‘court’ to then later break up, her getting engaged to someone else simply to make him jealous as he joined the merchant navy (savage!) and then my Grandad’s return. Those who were unaware of my Grandad and Grandmother’s history told him she was an ‘Ice Maiden’, but upon seeing him she broke off her engagement, asked her parents if he could walk her home after work, and the rest is history. I mentioned how dating nowadays was so different, and we discussed Tinder, Feeld and Grindr, texting and instant messaging. She told me she’d written a letter to him when he originally left declaring her love, which he had kept and he showed it to her two years later, battered by the sheer amount he had read it. We then drank more wine, I cried at how I’d never experienced a love like that, and we put this on the stereo. We danced, as my Grandmother told me how loved I was, how special I was and that no one in my life has quite deserved me yet.
Bonds
I remember the nerves mixed with excitement when I stepped out of my Dads car outside my first flat at University. This was the biggest thing I’d done to date, and I was beside myself with the possibilities of reading, learning and trying to achieve the steps to reach my career. In my second year I moved in with a guy I didn’t know. He was four years older than me, studied the polar opposite subject to me and was very sure of himself. I knew immediately we wouldn’t get along. I was quiet, shy and very unsure of myself.
I couldn’t have been more wrong. He ended up being one of my closest friends. I’ve constantly been told that men and women can’t be friends, and I’m glad I’ve had the experience of having such a great male friend, who was just that: a friend. We spent many evenings drinking together in our flat. We would watch films on each other’s bed, cook for each other and he would console me when I came home from a disastrous date or evening and let me tell him everything. He told me that the stories of my love life, which had provided much entertainment over two years we lived together,would be a great standup show at a comedy festival, and this was likely the earliest formation of the idea for this blog entering my mind.
He introduced me to Firefly, and we quickly became Mal (he bloody wishes!) and Kaylee (who I was in awe of). He’d play the soundtrack on his guitar, and we’d both sing. We’d drink wine, or awful lager and watch Serenity and (he would) sob.
Music was an incredibly important part of our friendship. We would listen to awful songs, drink wine and sing at the top of our lungs to them. We became incredible at movie soundtrack quizzes, even though we hadn’t seen the original movies. We would go out and listen to love music, and dance at our favorite metal bar, and find the club doing a pop punk night and pretend we were angsty young 15 year olds again, and sing at ‘rock-aoke’ evenings.
After we both moved away, we returned to our city for a week together a few years later during the summer. We shared a room. We went out to a folk club and listened to a version of this song, which I adored. It reminds me of that moment, of feeling utterly blissful and secure in someone’s company, and of the possibilities brought by life. Then, during the open mic session, he asked to borrow the guitar and I sang with him playing like I’d often do for him, and only him, in our flat. It was the first time I’d properly sung in public (ie not karaoke..!).
We then returned home, incredibly drunk and stumbled into our shared room. We booted up his laptop, beat our score on our movie soundtrack quiz and fell asleep.