My Go-To Tunes: Old School Country

I have always been a person who associates memories with music. I can’t always remember what I was wearing for a specific event, but I can tell you what memories are attached to songs.

Growing up, our house was always full of music. The stereo was playing, or one of my sisters was practicing her musical instruments. I learned to sing songs which may or may not have been appropriate at a young age.

One of the first songs I remember singing is “Rhinestone Cowboy” by Glen Campbell. I used to have an orange plastic rocking horse with a blue mane. I named him Filbert. I would ride Filbert in my parents’ living room, wearing my cowboy hat, and sing “Rhinestone Cowboy” at the top of my lungs. I still know all the words. I don’t know whether to be proud of that.

Today I heard the news that Glen Campbell passed away. In honor of his life and legacy, I give you my Old School Country memory. Thank you for the music Glen.

 

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My Go-To Tunes: Musical Memories

Sometimes, I’m going through life doing something completely mundane when all of a sudden my brain becomes aware of a song and I’m instantly transported to a different place and time. This happened yesterday as I was completing an overdue monthly expense report for my employer. I heard the high hat and the keyboards and started bopping in my chair. In came the bass, and I turned up the volume on my headphones without even realizing what I was doing. I started singing the first chorus before I became aware of the sound coming out of my mouth.

Sidebar – this happens all the time, much to the annoyance of my former cubicle neighbors when I used to work in the cube farm. “I’m sure you think you have a lovely voice, but it’s very distracting when you sing at your desk.” Um, well, I actually do have a good voice, but most of the time when I’m singing at my desk at work, I really don’t notice that I’m doing it. I’ll try not to listen to music but you screaming into  your phone is a distraction too! Is it any wonder I didn’t last there?

Back to the story…

When this happened yesterday, I was transported from my home office in Waterford, New York, USA, to the house on Mirramar Park in Blackmans Bay, Tasmania, Australia. I was sixteen years old in September 1990 when my host brother, Mike, blared the song at 6:45 AM and yelled at me to get out of bed. I remember the moment because it was one of the few mornings I did not get up before Mike to get ready for school.

This memory sparked another memory – February 15 is Mike’s birthday! A glance at the clock and some quick calculations and I realized it was already February 15 in Australia. I left a quick note on Mike’s Facebook page, sharing my musical memories and birthday wishes. He replied this morning (well, morning for me but I’m guessing he’s heading to bed).

Denise – You are AWESOME! I still absolutely love that song!!! i will play it tomorrow to my 3 daughters in your honour! I love how the bass line kicks in half way through the bar on the off beat…gold!

I love that music can be a universal language, connecting me to friends and family who happen to be on the other side of the world. Some people associate memories with food or scents. I know someone whose memories are triggered by clothes. But my memories have always been sparked by music.

The song that served as my memory spark this time was Modern Times by Daryl Braithwaite. Included on his album Rise, it is a staple on my “Aussie Tunes” playlist. I’ve listened to it hundreds of times, but yesterday I was struck by the second verse. Though the song was released twenty-seven years ago, the lyrics are still relevant.

Somebody pulls the trigger, while somebody waits to get hit

Somebody freezes in the winter, and I’m complaining about the heat

Nobody listens these days, though they’ve all got something to say

I’m singing songs about waiting, and you’ll come back some day

Now I need to go listen to the song again. You can listen to it too, in honor of Mike’s birthday.

30 Days of Thanks Day 28 – Guest Post by Via Mari

My final guest for this month is Via Mari. We “met” through an online writing group and learned we shared a love of travel. I enjoy learning about Via’s research process, and the importance of keen observation when it comes to getting the details right when describing a location in writing. I am excited to share her gratitude post as we near the end of 30 Days of Thanks. You can read more of her work, including descriptions of her books and insights as to how she researches her writing, over at her blog.

Thankful for Memories

When I think of thankfulness so many things come to mind, but as I ponder what I am really thankful for this year it has to be my memories.

As a young girl, I recall waking up in England and following the scent of mom’s baked goods down the stairs to the kitchen below. The large walnut crank- out table was the place we gathered to eat the sweet, flaky pastries and drink the robust black tea which mom always cooled slightly for me with a little milk and sugar.

As a teenager, I recall shopping with mom for special occasion dresses. It’s the laughter and the fact that I could tell her anything that I remember so vividly. We would spend hours talking through all life’s little troubles as we went from boutique to boutique. Together we would search until we found the perfect dresses. The little frilly red and white ones for holidays and pictures with family, a long pale yellow formal for my first dance, and a flowing midnight blue sparkly strapless for prom and another short, more sophisticated black strappy dress with sequins for the young woman who was about to graduate. Then it was the wedding dress, the ultimate pursuit. Bridal shows, boutique after boutique, day after day of laughter and talking until we found the simple, classic white dress I would be married in.

As a young woman, I recall my children enjoying the same holiday customs I experienced as a child. My mother’s traditions of baking Gramma’s homemade yeast rolls from scratch, the sausage and apple stuffing which would be lovingly prepared to accompany the turkey, and engaging them in the laughter and conversation that was always so much a part of the day.

As a woman today, I sit quietly watching my mom interact with our extended family. I am thankful for all the memories we are making and that I will have the ability to look back and remember every extraordinary thing about my mom today.

My Go-To Tunes: Earworms

Earworm: a catchy song or tune that runs continuously through a person’s mind

It started earlier today in a Facebook group message with my friends Tonia and Roslynn. In the middle of a discussion about disillusionment (say those three words together fast – it’s fun!), Roslynn typed:

Ruined for life.

And I’ll have you know FB autocorrected ruined to rhinestone.

That’s all it took. The earworm was there, stuck in my brain on auto-play.

For five hours now, I have been singing “Rhinestone Cowboy.” Yes, that classic country song written by Larry Weiss and released in 1975 by Glenn Campbell.

In my head. The. Entire. Afternoon.

What makes it worse is that it’s not just the chorus stuck in my head. Oh no! I have been singing the entire song in my head. Over and over.

You see, this song used to be a favorite of mine – when I was three or four years old. I had an orange plastic rocking horse with blue hair. I named him Filbert. I rode Filbert in my red plaid shirt, blue jeans and cowboy hat, singing along with “Rhinestone Cowboy” as it played on the stereo in my parent’s living room. I knew all the words. I’ve always been good at remembering song lyrics.

So, today all it took was the prompt from Roslynn to start the tune. I tried to get rid of it by introducing other music. I pulled up my ‘No Holiday’ playlist on my iPod thinking I could ride the stupid sparkling cowboy off my mental range. Sting, Carole King, Sheryl Crow, Bruce Springsteen, Midnight Oil, New Order, Pearl Jam – yes, that is what played. I have eclectic tastes.

None of those other songs worked. It’s still there.

What do you do when an earworm refuses to leave? You share it!

Don’t thank me. Thank Roslynn.