Music and its associations


Whenever I hear The Cars' "Just What I Needed" I'm immediately transported to those many hot summer afternoons, sitting in our backyard overlooking the American River, hanging with high school friends. We'd put the speakers on the balcony and turn it up, not realizing that we were in essence building a soundtrack to our lives. Ironically, they still associate that song with the same thing I do.

Last night, we attended a benefit dinner for a program that was co-founded by my father, who by profession is an OB/GYN. Around 1996, seeing that many drug-addicted women were losing custody of their children at birth, and receiving no services for their addictions, he and several others started a home for the mothers, with counseling services to help them stay free from drugs, as well as helping them to reunify with their children, get work, and eventually move into their own homes as a family. They have since served over 1000 women, and have been asked to help start similar programs with other hospitals around the country. As they played a slideshow that helped to demonstrate what it is they do, the Pachelbel Canon in D played along. I couldn't help think about hearing that song for the first time in 1980, as the theme to the film "Ordinary People". At the time, I identified with the sad state of the characters and the tragic family in the film. And yet, last night, I realized that the music suddenly carried a new meaning for me, one of revelation and spiritual growth. As my father spoke to 400 attendees as this year's honoree, I kept hearing that song, and trying unsuccessfully to link his childhood as a poor, lonely Jewish kid in Detroit to this successful, revered doctor who has found his calling in working with the Sisters of Mercy to help the underprivileged to clear away the noise of abuse so that they too could live a fulfilling life. I could not put it together in my mind, but I suppose that's exactly how this particular composition has come to represent something entirely different now than it did years ago, in my own childhood. And I guess that's why last night, I came to realize that the depth of a person's life--in this case, my father's--is a process of endless discovery, with unforseeable treasures that emerge along the way.

Thanks for letting me share that thought. I'm curious to hear what pieces of your life are accompanied by these unforgettable musical memories?
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Showing 1 response by trelja

This is a most unique and special thread, Howard. Thank you!

I think we all have songs burned into our selves regarding milestone events in our lives. Off the top of my head, my own list...

Miscellaneous Oldies. Age: 6. In 1975, South Philadelphia was still stuck in the 50s. Except, I didn't know it was the 70s - until it was too late. Nostalgia ain't what it used to be

Kraftwerk - Numbers. Age: 12. Damn, even the brothers' heads exploded over these nerdy German guys

Modern English - I Melt With You. Age: 15. Ah, TRELJA's amazingly parallel story to Valley Girl. Stacey was waaaaaaaayyyy hotter and more wild than what Nicholas Cage was chasing

Golden Earring - Radar Love. Age: 19. Brings me back to the days when we used to drive at 140 mph. It all felt like a video game, with cars and scenery just absolutely blowing by (Steve! Look out for that boat!!!)

Mariah Carey - Someday. Age: 22. Had to sing this out loud a hundred thousand times to try to get myself through a breakup with someone I loved more than I could imagine. 10 years later, I don't get much satisfaction in knowing that it did come true, but I can point others to it in times like this

Thomas Dolby - I Love You, Goodbye. Age: 23. Finding new romance and getting over a broken heart in a wicked, more than fun woman

Miles Davis - So What. Age: 26. The soundtrack of one man's transition from adolescence to adulthood, or whatever you call it, in his mid - 20s.

Vanessa Carlson - A Thousand Miles. Age: 33. Had to drive two hours each way to be with my love was locked in a cage. And, yes, I would walk a thousand miles if I could just see you

There's a ton more, but I don't want to publish a treatise here