Musica-500 Word - T.A.Fynes The Written Word Group
Music has always been a big factor in my life. It holds more than notes and words. It holds memories intertwined, enmeshed within the melody. I can’t separate them. They’re the, Higgs Boson God Particle Glue, to my existence. A Large Cern Hadron Collider soundtrack, to a long life lived. Hearing a song can trigger a type of, "Post Traumatic Stress," music-field flashback.
Music will do that. Transport you,
instantaneous, to a place long ago and far away. A Dr Who Tardis experience,
via invisible radio waves. And it's usually a golden oldies channel, that
triggers the time jump.
Your everyday life is parked for that
moment, as you take the way back nostalgia express, down the rabbit hole well
travelled.
John McCormack singing, “Little Town in
the oul County Down,” has me back in the house of my childhood.
It’s coming up to Christmas, snow is
falling, and my Dad has invited all his pals back for a sing song.
My poor hard-working Mom pulled away from
her Christmas preparations, to sing all the verses of, "Skibbereen."
There is also a tangy sense of smell, tacked on to this memory. Which comes
back as vibrant and as strong as the music. Memories of a room full of unwashed
men, singing their hearts out, and that aroma afterburn, of a barrel of
Guinness, consumed.
"Africa," by Toto plays, and I’m
back in Copenhagen, on the way to work at a forest kindergarten. The only male,
among a group of ideology driven Marxist Pedagogues. Where winning was frowned
upon. And taking part was the ultimate objective.
Then the timeline shifts, and I’m in Kenya
with my son’s school. Painting a Church, when a runner comes to inform us, one
of our girls has been struck in the head by an arrow.
And I just knew it was my son that was
behind the bow.
"I Heard It Through The Grapevine,"
comes on, and it’s 1973, I’m in a bar in Amsterdam. This guy is buying us
rounds. Tell's us the place is dangerous. Then he shows us his revolver, and
demands we buy him drinks. We are too young and scared to object, we keep
buying until we can scarper out of there.
"Goldfinger," brings back
camping holidays in France. It was the first song we would play, as we drove
away from our house. Our three boys belting it out, as we looked forward to two
weeks of sun, and getting to know each other again. I admit I did brainwash the
boys, with REM & Tom Lehr, on those long sunny drives across France. So
there is a collective flashback when we hear those melodies playing.
Sometimes I get a flashback from a totally
new song. That just conveys an instant template of melodic nostalgia.
Jack O’Rourke’s, "Opera on the Top Floor," has a ghost-like melancholy.
It makes me happy, and yet sad at the same
time, But that, is the beauty and mystery of music.
Tom this is bursting with memories from your interesting life. You have a way with words that took me down memory lane with you. The unwashed bodies of men and that smell of beer and Guinness. It reminded me so much of my childhood. Friends of my Father would come back from the pub with him and an afternoon of singing and more drinking would ensue. My mother was expected to accomodate this as well. The way music transport's us to a time and place, to people no longer here, to memories good and bad.I don't think anything else has that impact on my senses and you feel it so strongly also.
ReplyDeleteI really loved this piece of work. You shared much of your life within it. We will be sure to read it aloud on Friday. I will ask David to do that. Look forward to seeing you soon. Regards Berni
Spot on stuff
DeleteV well done
Was there (some of it literally)