Like a lot of people I associate music with certain key moments/people in my life. The memory often takes on more relevance than the song itself. In many cases, this is for the best. For example, I have fond memories of dancing around the spare room at my grandmother's house mouthing the words to Stacey Q's Two of Hearts. I must have been around 8 years old so, let's face it, I had no clue what young Stacey Q was singing about. What I did know was that the repetition of "two of hearts" was catchy and alone with my little walkman and This Is 198? cassette I was in a world of my own. Listening back to Two of Hearts now doesn't make me wonder what ever happened to Ms Q (suffocated from Ellenet fumes?), but it does make me smile and wonder if my grandmother knew what a nincompoop I was being while jumping around in the spare room. Given the rickety floorboards I suspect she had a good sense of my idiocy.
But what about when the song in question forms the soundtrack to a shitty/painful memory? How sad to lose out on the greatness of Intergalactic Planetary because it reminds you of dancing around an ex's kitchen like an idiot seemingly moments before he broke your heart or the sweetness of the Go Betweens because another ex introduced you to the band in a Mao-style musical education programme which you tried to rebel against in quasi-teenage angst? Ahem..
So, in an act of Eternal Sunshine-esque subterfuge, you do your best to let go of the sad memories. Invariably this doesn't work and isn't entirely desirable (you've seen the flick). Best alternative? Replace the old memories with new ones. Like the sense of delight and surprise when you hear an acoustic version of Batchelor Kisses and all you can think of is how perfectly beautiful the song is.
I still have songs to clear from the decks, but how wonderful to get this one back for myself!
Love,
Stephanie
