Sometimes, when you listen to a song you haven’t heard in years, you find yourself transported back in time to the last time you heard it, remembering with new-found clarity how you felt at the time. Of course, this happens with other senses too, with sight (visiting a place from your past), with taste, and most potently, of course, with smell. But I personally find that music is the most common trigger, as it’s not everyday that I smell a loaf of bread and find myself in a bakery from 2004.
My favourite example of musical time travel is my personal experience with the band Gorillaz. I bought their self-titled album when I was very young (because of the cartoon cover of course) and, as their particular genre of music didn’t take hold of me at that age, the reminiscence was all the more strong when I revisited them in 2012. I fell into listening two particular songs which complemented my then-maudlin state of mind: Gravity and Starshine. Their album Demon Days was also a nostalgia trip for me back then, but rather than listening to Feel Good Inc. and Dare over and over as I had before, I fell into listening different songs on the album such as November Has Come, All Alone, White Light and the narrative masterpiece Fire Coming Out of the Monkey’s Head.
Now, I’m not telling you about these individual songs just because I like them so much. Here’s the point: Gravity and Starshine reminded me of a childhood long past, and transported me around eight years back in time, fueling the fires of nostalgia and triggering memories that had long since faded. The Demon Days songs listed, however, were new to me at the time, as I’d only really listened to the first half of the album before. I listened to all of the above songs at the same time in my life. Now, if I were to go back and listen to them again it would be another nostalgia trip, as it’s been so long. This time, however, I’d be remembering events that took place in 2012, when I went through my last phase of listening to them, both the new and the old. (It’s also worth noting I’ve not familiarised myself with the first eight tracks of Demon Days since my childhood, and therein lies a potential nostalgia trip back to those times.)
Music is the same as anything else; too much of a good thing dulls your appreciation to it. The aurora borealis is beautiful, even as a picture, but make that picture your desktop background and within a week it won’t hold the same awe that it used to. Remove yourself from that picture for a few months, however, and the next time you make it your background it may once again be beautiful… for a few days, at least. But the thing with music is that, at least for me, it can capture your thoughts and feelings like a snapshot, and becomes a sort of time capsule after your appreciation for it wanes, waiting for your taste to swing back its way in a few years time to barrage you with the echoes of your past state of mind.
The nostalgia that old music can bring is a blessing, but the way it is automatically overwritten in the mind – or at least, I must stress, my mind – is saddening. I feel like I have a limited supply of music left I can use to transport myself back into the very earliest depths of my past. Linkin Park’s teenage angst was revisited a few years ago, as was Nickelback’s… distinct… sound. I figure I have the first half of Demon Days, Coldplay’s first few albums and, because it’s just stellar music, The Simpsons’ Yellow Album left until all of my earliest nostalgia is overwritten with modern associations that the subconscious must so relentlessly pursue. On the other hand, I’ve not listened to The Killers since my few months of binge-listening to them when I first started University, and some of Avenged Sevenfold’s albums are probably due for a revisit. Alternatively, I could simply keep finding new music, leaving a trail of nostalgic albums in my wake, growing more potent in their power of reminiscence by the month.
It only now occurs to me that if I’m the only one who experiences this sensation, the last 700 words may well paint me to be a madman. I hold confidence that I’m not alone, though. Whether I mean I’m not alone in the musical sense or the insanity sense, I’ll leave you to decide for yourself!
Perpetually Perturbed 