I don’t have a song; the single song I associate my #1 relationship with or one that quintessentially harnesses my youth in 3 minutes or less for that matter. I was having coffee with a friend the other day and the conversation somehow wound around to her and her husband’s “Song.” Eh?? What’s that? No, don’t have one of those. To which she responded with a small roll of her eyes.
Is there something wrong with me?
Of course, there are a lot of records and specific tracks I associate with the various snapshots of my life, different life zones when a slew of monumental or completely mundane but memorable things were happening to me. I first met my husband while watching live music, so that particular artist makes me smile, yes. I mean, I’m not completely dead inside. Songs spark memories and punctuate the otherwise flat timelines of our lives, right? But one tune? Come on. How is that possible?
Perhaps it’s because, at my core, I am not a romantic. Don’t get me wrong, I like love. I love being loved and I delve it out in basketfuls. Ask my friends. Ask my neighbors. I find tales of the unrequited variety are particularly intriguing. Upon further investigation however, I think I am missing the gooey center that many (mostly girls) have that allows one to capture and recognize a “My/Our Song” in its taffy-like tendrils. That or I’ve become jaded watching one too many nuptials culminating with a first dance to “At Last.” Snore.
Honestly, the simple answer here is that I am just not a lyrics girl, really. I hate to come back to that again, as I’ve written about it a gazillion times, but it is what it is.
I tend to become emotional over the way a song sounds, not what an artist is literally saying. Most of the time a message and emotive bits are hidden within the context of a series of crescendos or a song’s rhythm, not its lexicon. Unlike a concrete group of lyrics/words or poetry, such noise can one day whisper of love and commitment and a month later pepper one’s brain with thoughts of despair and regret. It largely depends upon the mood of the listener. This recipe of an individual’s mood coupled with the sonic intensity of a group of instruments – or lack thereof – makes proclaiming a gold standard for a couple, or a single, nearly impossible. Right.
I am not sure where else to go with this actually. Perhaps not writing is for the best and just listening is for the better. Listen, scribble some mental notes, wipe your wet face or crack a crooked smile. Whatever. Then tuck it away in the bottom of your sock drawer for a week and listen again. We’ll see what happens.
[Abby’s Road is a Knox Road feature published every other Friday.]