I spent three days in Maine this past weekend. I was in the Southwestern tip of the state, in a village called York Harbor, where a good friend got married. I stayed in a turn-of-the-century inn, not far from Kennebunk, slept in a four-poster bed, and ate my fill of lobster. On Saturday morning, as I cast an eye over the clothes I was to wear during the ceremony, I realized I had not packed any cufflinks. No bother — wasn’t that a Brooks Brothers store I passed on my way into town? Yes, I believe it was. Surely they would have a fine pair of cufflinks for me.
I walked out to my convertible, lowered the top, fired up the engine, and pulled out of the Inn’s gravel parking lot. As I merged onto the two-lane road separating the inn from the sea, I reached for my iPod, but it wasn’t there. I knew, however, that there were a few odds and ends in the glovebox I might listen to — mostly two-dollar CDs I picked up during the fire sales that accompanied the death throes of the Tower Records empire. I reached into the compartment and pulled out…Morph the Cat, Donald Fagen‘s latest solo album. Hmm.
I slid it into the car’s CD changer, and it was quietly supped into the dash. A few moments later, the cool, jazzy strains of “H Gang” rolled out of the speakers and into the bright sunshine. I smiled as I rounded the corner and spied the Brooks Brothers sign down the road. Everything was just so for Donald Fagen and his smooth jazz confection. Indeed, in the moment, I thought it perfect.
The smooth jazz confection of “H Gang”
Mind you, most any other time, I’d think the tune was pretty freakin’ boring. As with so many other things, it seems time and place make big difference in how much we enjoy things. The finest finger foods at a work reception always taste like shit; a burnt weenie on a stick when you’re camping with your girlfriend tastes heavenly. On that sunny day, in southern Maine, with the top down and a breeze blowing back my hair, pulling into the Brooks Brothers parking lot for a pair of cufflinks, it was perfect.
So here’s my question: Can you think of a time and place when a piece of music unexpectedly came alive, mainly because of the time and place in which you heard it? Please don’t be afraid to share.
I can think of two, both radio events. Driving through the middle of nowhere in West Viginia, I was scanning the dial in one of those areas where the scanner will just circle the frequencies and never find anything. Finally the tuner found a station and I caught the end of a bluegrass gospel show. They probably were not playing anything special, but at that moment it seemed like the most beautiful music on earth, and I wanted to give up everything, get saved, and settle down in the mountains.
The other occasion involved a drive from Houston to New Orleans. Somewhere near the east Texas border, the radio picks up the Stones playing Rocks Off. The reception wasn’t great, but I stuck with it, because you hardly ever hear that one on the radio.
After it goes off, Rip This Joint comes on. Then Shake Your Hips. After every track I keep waiting for a DJ to break in, but the whole Exile on Main St, the greatest rock album ever made, keeps playing. Certainly where I was made it sound even better, leaving Lightnin’ Hopkins’ stomping grounds and driving across the southwest Louisiana prairies toward Crowley where Slim Harpo first recorded Shake Your Hips. The staticky reception made the experience even more evocative.
For some reason the whole album played straight through with no DJ interference. I was rocking, and it was perfect. Then the strangest thing, when Soul Survivor ends and I’m waiting for the DJ or station ID or something to come on, damned if Rocks Off doesn’t start up again. That was too creepy, like I might get stuck in a place where only Exile on Main St. ever played, so I turned it off fast.
Townsman, despite the poll that resulted from this post, don’t think I don’t love this detailed anecdote and the fine question you raise. Recently, while in San Diego and making the drive up the coast to drop in on The Back Office, I fished around in my bag for a CD that might help me pass the time in my rental car while making the long, evening drive. Out came an unmarked CD, which I popped in and – soon enough – realized was a mix CD I’d made during my previous trip to San Diego, in the fall of 2006. I think I made this mix in anticipation of some driving I’d be doing in California. Not having that much experience on the West Coast, I guessed at what might fit the mood. There’s a good deal of mellower stuff, because everyone knows people in California are mellow, and there’s a good deal of stuff I normally don’t grab when I’m home in the northeast corridor. To my delight, a couple of weeks ago, the mix CD held up just as well and felt just as right as it did when I made it in October. I’ve been thinking I should listen to it again now that I’m home, but it doesn’t feel right. Maybe I’ll post a bit of the mix up on the site later tonight to give you a taste of my most recent right place, right time musical occurrence.
BigSteve, that is *exactly* the kind of response I was looking for! Great story!
I remember also the time Townsman Mockcarr and I were driving from Knoxville, TN to DC, after having spent three days in the rock studio working on Where’s Jay’s second el-pee. As we wound our way through the Blue Ridge mountains, with the light falling, I popped Spirit’s “12 Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus” into the CD player. Neither of us spoke a word until the album came to a close, when we both agreed we had just experienced a truly transcendant moment in the time/place/music continuum. That album was *perfect* at that moment. (It’s pretty effing great at any time, mind you.)
Here’s one – and it’s now one of the few classic music albums I own. One weekend morning, when the boys were with my Mom and my wife and I had a rare chance to sleep in on a Saturday morning, our clock radio alarm accidentally got set to go off. We were in our own house, in our own bed (the rest can be left to your imaginations!). The alarm went off and we were awoken to Mahler’s Sinfonia No. 4 – Lieder und Gesange aus der Jugendzeit. I only know the title because I also have this CD on my computer. Rather than get bugged by the early wake-up call, we let the music play, and it was great! I went out and bought the CD later that day. I still love it, and I still think of how good it was that morning, in our own house, in our own bed.
I’m sensing a lot of fear around this issue, Hrrundi. Why do you think that is?
Is it because most RTHers never leave their parents’ basement?