Been a Long Time Gone... Constantinople

Polly and Diosa have been talking about music lately, and I decided to join in the fun. I’ve heard that for most people smell is the sense most strongly linked to memory, but for me it’s definitely sound. There are songs that can transport me back instantly to a time and place. I can remember the song I danced with my first love to at my senior prom (SWV’s Weak). Purple Haze brings me back to summers at camp, listening for hours to the guys I grew up with jamming in the rec hall. Polly and I first became friends in junior high over a philosophical discussion of Stairway to Heaven. Ever seen Dawson’s Creek? We were those teenagers.

I was out to lunch at Chat ‘n’ Chew, one of those hip, too-laid-back-to-be-trendy kind of restaurants, the kind that always have the best music, and The Cure’s Pictures of You came on. Suddenly I was seventeen again, driving my parents’ car around Woonsocket, listening to the Disintegration album like we were the first generation to ever discover angst.

I think that the music of my teens will forever be the most vivid in my mind, and closest to my heart, because in my high school at least, music was what defined you. Back before “Alternative” was a label, we were the “Progressives.” The boys listened to the Misfits and the Dead Kennedys. The girls listened to The Smiths, The Indigo Girls, and 10,000 Maniacs. Everyone listened to The Cure and the Femmes, of course. We wore earth day t-shirts with tights and plaid, pleated skirts. Your Doc Martens were your entry card to the group, and back then you had to go to a cool neighborhood to buy them. There were no Docs at the mall. The hip-hop loving crowd would clear the floor for us at school dances when Rock Lobster or Why Can’t I Be You? came on. The cafeteria was our mosh pit, and we would dance until we collapsed, sweaty and breathless.

Although I’ve upgraded most of my favorites to CD, I can’t bear to get rid of my old cassettes: They Might Be Giants, They Eat Their Own, The La’s. They’re old friends, and I want to keep them close by, just in case I need them. I love my life, and there’s nothing that could make me want to be a teenager again. I like being able to make my own rules and call my own shots, thank you very much. But sometimes it’s nice to pretend, just for a minute, that my girlfriends are all within walking distance, that we have the time to spend hours talking about music and watching Pretty in Pink for the fortieth time, that nothing can touch us in our tight little circle.

p.s. I owe you one, ladies. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun researching a blog entry.