The Soundtracks of Our Lives

On Facebook there’s a meme going around of people posting a list of the albums that inspired or defined their teenage identities. One thing all the lists I’ve seen so far have in common is that they’re all pop music of one kind or another. I wonder if that’s because it’s a genuine rarity for a teenager to listen to classical music, or jazz, or folk, or opera — or because popular music is in some sense more personal, or speaks more immediately to mood and time and place.

My own teenage listening was a pretty odd mixture. I probably listen to more pop music now than I did in high school. I was an opera lover from a young age, and the music I heard at home was most often classical or folk: my parents deny ever being hippies, but their record collection certainly bore signs of their having lived in Berkeley for much of the 60s, with lots of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, and Peter, Paul, & Mary. During my high school years, most of my family was quite involved in international folk dancing. My father and I, more specifically, were involved with a group called the “Philhellenic Dancers”: we met weekly to learn and practice dances from all regions of Greece, and a subset of the group, including the two of us, gave performances in restaurants and at festivals, including a few times at Greek Day. (As almost none of us were actually Greek, I have thought a lot about this group in light of current debates about cultural appropriate. But that would be — maybe will be — a separate post some day.) flute logo

In Grade 11, I started working part-time at The Magic Flute, a classical record store that for many years was a Vancouver institution: this was a job that both reflected and supported my orientation towards classical music. My first gig there was doing inventory, for which I was paid in store credit. The fruits of that labor are now boxed up in my parents’ basement. With vinyl making a comeback, maybe I should finally get the boxes shipped out here for sorting. (I can’t find any photos of the store online, but I did find this clip of its graphic logo, which was on all our shopping bags and on the cover of the mail-order catalog that I assembled and edited for many years.)

Acentral_parkll of these activities and interests infused my listening life. I didn’t have any sense of disdain for whatever the top 100 might be; I just didn’t pay that music much attention. I knew and liked some older stuff: when Simon & Garfunkel did their reunion tour in 1983, for instance, I lined up overnight with a friend to get floor tickets, and enjoyed their B.C. Place concert from our spot maybe 3 yards back from the stage. I got to be good friends with Veda Hille (now an original and successful musician in her own right) and she introduced me to the Beatles (imagine needing an introduction to the Beatles in the mid-80s, but I did), and then when we were co-editors of our high school year book, we listened to a lot of David Bowie while developing photos in the darkroom. Other people’s influence brought in other music: my boyfriend was a Eurythmics fan, for instance (I died my hair purple to go with him to their concert — though since my hair is naturally quite dark, the result was more like a purple aura than a bold statement). It was Vancouver in the 80s, so perhaps Bryan Adams fandom was inevitable, and when Born in the USA came out, my best friend and I put it on our Sony Walkmen and listened to it over and over. (That friend liked to get out and have some fun, so she is also the reason I saw Michael Jackson live when the Victory Tour came to Vancouver.)

Bryan at New Kent HotelBut there really isn’t a list of 10 albums that for me made up a distinct soundtrack of those years, at least not one that really speaks to who I was. Instead, there are particular songs or albums that now have astonishing power to summon up different periods of my life. It’s remarkable how music can do that, isn’t it? A song comes on and suddenly there you are immersed in a whole set of feelings, as if you are being dunked into a vat of memory. These are often not songs that are personal favorites – what matters is that for some reason they became part of a moment in time for me. I was in the grocery store yesterday, for example, and Billy Joel’s “I’m Moving Out” came over their annoyingly loud sound system — and I was instantly back in the New Kent Hotel in London, where my sister and I stayed at both ends of our 6-month tour of Europe in 1986. (I just looked it up, and what do you know: it’s still there.) It was really a kind of hostel, with a lot of long-term guests, many of them Australians on work visas, and the ones we roomed with played Billy Joel a lot. In the photo you can see the Bryan Adams poster my best friend gave me to take along, to remind me of my roots (I guess). I took photos of it on display in a lot of different hostels! The song brought it all back to me, perhaps because I don’t think I have ever played it myself in any other context: I remember all the excitement and anxiety of being on that big adventure.

surfacingSarah McLachlans’s “Building a Mystery” is another really evocative song for me. It’s on her album Surfacing, which came out the year Owen was born. I was up a lot at night nursing, and I used to play it softly as I rocked with him. It was a hot summer, and I was equal parts miserably exhausted and desperately in love with this new little person. If I hear songs from that album without warning — especially “I Love You” or “Angel” — I am liable to get teary, though I’m not sure why these memories are quite so poignant. Maybe it’s the sense of distance, the realization of just how much has changed, and how inexorably time keeps moving forward. Then there’s Enya’s “Caribbean Blue,” which my husband and I danced to at our wedding rehearsal dinner in 1992: an unlikely choice, perhaps, but it is a waltz and it had become one of “our” songs. One of our first joint activities (cliché alert!) during our daringly brief courtship was taking ballroom dance classes together, so we actually did a pretty good job of our dance, if I may say so myself! Of course I can’t hear that song now without remembering what a happy weekend that was, as our friends and family gathered around us to wish us well. We walked down the ‘aisle’ (we were married in a restaurant, so it was pretty informal — the plan had been to use their waterfront garden, but it rained) to one of Dvorak’s string serenades: this, along with my turquoise silk dress, helped make the ceremony itself seem less clichéd!

Joan-Sutherland-005Although I listen to music almost all the time now, there’s little that has the same emotional power over me: I have to go deeper into my past to get the same effect. I wonder if it’s just that the more immediate events and their associations haven’t yet distilled into part of my history. There is certainly some music that is fundamental to my life — that I have loved for so long, that has given me so much pleasure, that when I hear it it restores me to myself. At the top of that list would be Joan Sutherland’s 1962 recording of La Traviata: my parents gave me the highlights LP as a birthday gift in 1972 and I cherished it even before I had the honor of getting Sutherland’s autograph on the cover years later. (Richard Bonynge’s autograph is on the back: I still feel a bit embarrassed about how indifferent I was to his offer to sign it too, but I was 9 and Sutherland was my idol.) No piano music has ever displaced Chopin’s in my heart since I first tried to learn some of his easier waltzes as a student: practicing the A-major Polonaise in the little room I signed out in the music building helped me sustain myself emotionally during my terrible first year of graduate school at Cornell. And speaking of graduate school, The Proclaimers’ “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” promptly delivers me back to my friend Bernie’s green pick-up truck and all the times we drove in it across the Catskills to my sister’s house in Mamaroneck…

I think my problem with the “10 albums” meme is not that there is no soundtrack to my teenage years but that my teenage years were just a few in a much longer musical history, an idiosyncratic collage of constant listening. What about you: are there songs or albums that invariably recall either high school or some other memorable moments in your life?

3 thoughts on “The Soundtracks of Our Lives

  1. Bill from PA January 15, 2017 / 11:53 pm

    I could identify albums or music that defined my teenage identity, but hearing them again doesn’t inevitably recall teenage memories. They’d all be classical selections and I’ve lived with them on a regular basis over the years, and they have any number of meanings to me, but not specifically autobiographical ones. Discovering the music at that time of life definitely did much to make me the person I am, while at the same time alienating me from my peers in many ways.

    Being born into an unmusical household, I had to more-or-less initiate myself into music. After briefly listening to top-40 type music (it was all that was available on the radio), I gravitated at first toward popular instrumental music, but after a few months discovered classical music: exposure to Bach’s G Minor fugue in school led to buying the “Switched-On Bach” album; around the same time I saw the film 2001: A Space Odyssey and purchased the soundtrack album. Thanks to records that could be borrowed from the library, I quickly became familiar with a range of music from Renaissance to Modern.

    I am totally without musical ability, can’t dance or sing, but I listen to music every day. I try to give it my full attention when listening, as I do when reading. I’ve had friends who are musicians and I have occasionally been in the happy position of that figure in the upper right hand corner of the piano trio painting you posted – he even looks a bit like me, though better dressed.

    Your post made me think that if as a teen I had had a job in a classical record store, providing that I progressed from store credit to an actual paycheck, that it may well have seemed like a vocation to me and it’s possible I would not have gone on to college.


    • Rohan Maitzen January 16, 2017 / 9:18 pm

      My experience at The Magic Flute was in some ways quite disillusioning: selling music is just like selling anything else, when it comes right down to it, and while there was some higher-order satisfaction in helping people find beautiful or interesting things to listen to that really meant a lot to them, there was a lot of hustling needed to “move product,” and it was really hard making any money and keeping the business afloat. I worked there during the transition from vinyl to CDs, and that also generated a lot of conflict with our customers, who didn’t like being forced out of one technology into another. (We’ve become a bit more used to that by now, I guess.) As a vocation, it lost its luster early on. As a part-time job right through university, it was great. For one thing, yes, it was still retail, but an all-classical store already brought in a somewhat politer clientele! Also, my boss was pretty great, and he gave me some of my first experience editing and publishing when he let me work on the newsletter and then the catalog. In those days, we did the paste-up ourselves, with sheets of copy, an exacto knife, and hot wax!


  2. Natalie January 17, 2017 / 6:49 pm

    I’ve never responded to that “Meme” because I fear that people would think me ostentatiously different.

    My main source of “new music” was the local University radio station and they were, as things tended to be at the time, all-classical all the time. From them I picked up Puccini, Scarlatti Sonatas, Rossini, the beautiful and often paired string quartets by Ravel and Debussy. I had little money but every now and then I just had to own one of these LPs and so I did. Scarlatti, Ravel, Debussy, certain operas, the Brandenberg Concerti and Italian opera were the soundtracks of my teenage years. I liked the Beatles well-enough and I played quite frequently some brilliant gifts I received: A Decca recording of Jacques Brel and the first album of Leonard Cohen.

    The other big thing that lasted for a couple of years was an album by Cyril Cusack and Siobhan McKenna reading the poetry of Yeats. I listened to them as I drifted off to sleep. I think that the repetition of the particular poems helped me to love and appreciate poetry.

    I think that university radio stations continued to play predominantly classical music until about the mid-1970s and I learned much from them and got to sample a lot of music. Then there was that magical evening when I “called in” and became the winner of my very own LP of “The Barber of Seville!” It didn’t get much better than that when I was a teenager.


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