By Britt Warner
Why I Wrote This Beastly Story
It threw me off-guard when I recently realized that most of my childhood memories are layered in a thick fog. I used to luxuriate in my past like a hot bubble bath; lately, though, I’ve been so focused on the present, on the future, that my brain seems to have discarded those earlier years like a computer dumping unnecessary files into the trash bin…or, perhaps, storing them in the archives.
Then a song will come on that sends me rushing back through time, flooded with smells and dialogue and feelings. It would have been impossible to include every album that had an effect on me, but I did the best I could to narrow it down to the most prominent soundtracks of my life. (Sorry, readers – it’s still pretty damn lengthy!) The following is an in-depth collection of musical memories, starting from when I was about four years old. Feel free to share some of your own as comments.
Musically Triggered Memories
1986: Duran Duran, Rio
My family was still small back then…small and intact. My dad used to play “Mr. Foot” whenever I entered my parents’ bedroom in the mornings, throwing and altering his voice into a gruff, scary tone: “Hey! Little girl! What do you think you’re doing?” while curling his toes and jolting his foot. It terrified me the first time and I burst into tears, but thereafter thought that his talking foot was hilarious. We used to go to Penguins for frozen yogurt, and my twenty-something mom always wanted to listen to the “hip” stuff that my forty-something dad couldn’t understand the appeal of. “What is he saying?” my father would wonder aloud. I thought I knew and offered my opinion from the back seat, completely butchering the words to “The Chauffeur.” I sought out Duran Duran long after they were considered relevant, their music bathed in the golden glow of happier times.
1987: Original Soundtrack: Dirty Dancing
I was never one to hang posters on my wall, but boy, did I have a crush on Patrick Swayze…as did most of the female population, young and old, after seeing Dirty Dancing. One of the characters, “Penny,” wore a Mexican-style blouse off the shoulders, and I thought that was pretty much the hottest example of fashion I’d ever seen. Natalie, my best friend in kindergarten, insisted she knew how to “suck” the way Johnny and Baby did in the movie and proceeded to pull me into a corner of the playground day after day to practice kissing.
1988: Madonna, Like A Prayer
I was convinced that my voice sounded just like hers as I mimicked every nuance and intonation in the title track, going so far as to perform ‘Like A Prayer’ with my own tiny back-up dancers at an annual Christmas party. The pounding of my pony’s hooves looped the rhythm of those songs round and round my little head. They were like candy to my six-year-old ears. By all appearances, Madonna was anything but a perfect role model for young girls; however, I interpreted a lot of her lyrics to be about female empowerment, strength, overcoming adversity…seriously! Any and all aspirations I had to grow up and be a performer in my own right formed while playing that album to death.
1989: George Michael, Faith
I’ll never forget how humiliating it was to have a friend in the car whilst my mother blasted “I Want Your Sex” and bopped along in the driver’s seat. ‘Nuff said.
1990: Paul Simon, Rhythm Of The Saints
My dad usually drove my brothers and I to school in the morning. I remember smelling his Old Spice aftershave and Wrigley’s Spearmint gum from the passenger seat of his car. Sometimes he would listen to Howard Stern, switching stations whenever it took a turn for the raunchy (which was often); other times he would give us difficult words to spell, and I remember the way the correct letters spilled from my brain to my tongue in perfect order, always. My mom loved Paul Simon, too – one of many common interests between two very different people – but I clearly remember hearing “The Obvious Child” for the first time while riding next to my dad. He told me that a lot of Paul Simon’s music was recorded with musicians and styles from all over the world. I felt amazed and impressed and still do to this day whenever I hear those songs.
1991: Bette Midler, The Divine Miss M
I never questioned my mom’s taste in music when I was little. I didn’t know any better. She’d wake me up at five in the morning Friday, Saturday, and Sunday so we could make it to whatever horse show was taking place that week. I’d usually stayed up way past my bedtime the night before, reading a book under the covers with a flashlight, so getting up early was sheer agony. To shake the sleep off of both of us, she’d blast Bette Midler, singing along as I grumbled crankily…often from the backseat, where I’d change from jammies to equestrian garb. I remember picturing old Bette to look like Kirstie Alley from her days on Cheers; I was shocked at just how far off I was when I saw an album cover.
1992: The Police, Every Breath You Take
“So,” my mom asked my dad when he got home from work, “is there any gossip about me?”
Exasperated and amused, he retorted, “Why would there be any gossip about you?”
I sat on the living room couch, dissecting the lyrics from the liner notes and quietly singing “Message In A Bottle” á capella. My dad’s laughter erupted from behind me after I stretched out the word “oh” the way Sting does toward the end of the song. I felt embarrassed, the way I always did when an adult laughed at me. No one ever explained that they laughed because I was a cute little kid. I felt an immense responsibility to present myself in a respectable manner and felt mortified any time I revealed myself to be human, after all.
1993: Tina Turner, Simply The Best
Definitely another one from my mom’s collection. I loved this woman’s voice: strong, vulnerable, outraged, and beautiful. Learning about her past only increased the admiration I felt for her, and when she warned “You better be good to me,” the weight of her words carried a world of meaning. I looked up to my mother in a similar manner, viewing her as a pillar of strength and fierceness, while simultaneously wanting to protect her from further harm after a life spent in suffering.
1994: George Michael, Listen Without Prejudice
Every January to March, the Desert Circuit International Horse Show Series was held on the polo grounds in Indio, California. My mom pulled me out of sixth grade so I could ride, uninterrupted, in all six weeks’ worth of competitions and “chase points”. She rented an apartment for she, my youngest siblings, and I to live in for the duration of the circuit, while my school-age brothers stayed back in Camarillo with our dad and visited on the weekends. Monday was the only day that I had time to do my independent study schoolwork; for the rest of the week, I was on a horse. Sprawled out on the carpeted floor of our month-to-month joint, I easily breezed through one assignment after another while listening to the still-closeted George Michael croon and emote through the speakers of my small boombox, occasionally wondering how my parents could bear to spend so much time apart.
1995: Cat Stevens, Tea For The Tillerman
My parents split that year. I tried to stay out of it, but they both sucked me in and my mother presented herself as the more sympathetic character. “Daddy” became “Michael” as painful things were said and done that could one day be forgiven, but never forgotten. I homeschooled at a wicker desk in the corner of the room I shared with my sister, teaching myself textbook lessons that I didn’t care to retain past the tests. The real lessons were happening all around me. Already an old soul as it was, I became an adult overnight and tried not to look back. A pillowcase of Halloween candy was the only reminder of youthful tendencies I’d previously partaken in. I allowed myself one or two pieces a day as I did my schoolwork, making the mini Hersheys and chocolate Santas last well into spring. Cat Stevens was a kindred spirit who had obviously had his share of heartache as well. His songs were like lullabies, singing my broken heart away to a safer time.
1996: Alanis Morissette, Jagged Little Pill
Female angst – need I say more?
1997: Sublime, 40 oz. To Freedom
The late Bradley Nowell used some dirty words and risqué phrases that I hadn’t yet heard in my previous musical selections. My mother denounced it as trash – she of “I Want Your Sex” fame – and I defensively insisted that I didn’t like it after all…but I did. I couldn’t get enough of it. Sublime was my initial foray away from the tastes and influences of my parents. “Can’t believe what the kids are listening to these days” finally applied to me, and it was the first baby step of many down the proverbial rabbit hole.
1998: Korn, Follow The Leader
Anger was something I could relate to. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, but I definitely had recurring fantasies of taking a baseball bat and going to town on some furniture. High school was horrible…I alternately feared and toyed with my burgeoning sexuality…I had major issues with my estranged father and felt largely responsible for my frazzled mother and slew of numb younger siblings…my riding career, the only thing I knew how to do, was abruptly cut short due to financial duress…I sneakily, hypocritically, became addicted to smoking after years of criticizing others for so much as looking at a cigarette…and no matter where I went or who I hung out with, I felt older than everybody. The after-effects of my parents’ divorce went on and on and both of them made it impossible to simply move forward and allow everyone to get over it. So yeah. I felt pissed off. And while Korn wasn’t exactly death metal, it was the angriest, most fucked-up music I had ever listened to…and had decent melodies to boot.
1999: Nine Inch Nails, The Fragile
My best friend bought this double-disc set for me the day it was released. Trent Reznor said in interviews that he created each song to be a continuation of the one preceding it, that skipping tracks on this album was explicitly forbidden by him. I respected him enough as an artist to take that to heart, allowing myself to get lost in the themes and the pulsating, sonic sexuality. In the privacy of my friend’s room, she tried to teach me to dance, to move to the beat. Sometimes I got it right, other times, I was too self-conscious to loosen up and trust myself not to look like a total schmuck. It was only when I found myself completely alone with Trent and his Fragile that I was able to let go of my carefully-constructed composure and come exquisitely undone.
2000: Portishead, Dummy
Lost my virginity to this album…well…to the first part of it, anyway.
2000-2002: Led Zeppelin, The BBC Sessions
Finally out of high school, the possibilities seemed endless. My “style” consisted of flared, low-slung jeans that I ripped the waistbands off of and paired with shrunken tees that stopped just above my belly button. I wanted to delve into who I was as a young adult and run a little wild, for once…while, apparently, exposing as much of my toned midriff as possible. This double-disc set started it all. Most of my worthwhile adventures were either encouraged or punctuated by Robert Plant’s pristine vocals. Something as mundane as painting the walls in my studio became a fantasy that unfolded before my eyes. The music egged me on, complemented my tousled existence in a way that I still can’t quite put my finger on. Suffice it to say that if not for Zeppelin, my late teens would have been a helluva lot more boring!
2002: David Gray, White Ladder
I had a two-week lesbian fling. She wore 2 1 2 For Men and wanted me to take her to all the gay bars in West Hollywood, which I obliged. We were friends before lovers, and easily returned to platonic friendship after she went back to England. I wasn’t nuts about David Gray, but my friend insisted on playing it repeatedly for the duration of her visit. Much to my reluctant surprise, the album did, indeed, grow on me.
2003: Cream, The Millenium Collection
I taught horseback riding lessons in the Valley at one of the stables I had belonged to growing up, and also exercised other people’s horses for money. I spent the commutes to and from work dissecting the poetry of Cream’s songs and learning how to recognize timing and structure with thanks to Ginger Baker’s tight-ass drumming. One of my bosses, a married man who I had idolized as a child, made a few suggestive comments to me, going so far as to admit feeling guilty for fantasizing about someone he’d loved as a daughter. “It’s wrong,” he said gruffly, and my heart pounded in my throat, confused and flattered and horrified, all at once. Disappointment dug into my chest, and I focused on memorizing the lyrics to “Brave Ulysses” in order to drown out the let-down.
2004: Aimee Mann, Lost In Space
In the same way that anorexia ruined grapefruit for me, so it did Aimee Mann, as well. I was living with my brother in a spooky-cool apartment in Hollywood, complete with exposed brick walls and crackhead neighbors. My mom had up and moved across the country to Vermont with most of my siblings, and I hadn’t spoken to my father in a very long time. After years of repressed feelings and depression, I couldn’t stand that life merely went on. Men hit on me relentlessly, sensing vulnerability. Bills had to be paid, money had to be earned, and dreams had to be pursued. I wasn’t ready for any of it. If you look good and act like you have your shit together, people assume you’re okay. Well, I wasn’t okay, and I made it my mission to give the world an exterior visual of how ugly I felt on the inside. I wanted to be little again, to literally shrink back down to child-size. Starving gave me a perverse pleasure in that I finally had control of something. What a fucking cliché I was. Aimee Mann whined and pined as I curled up in bed every night, eating spinach leaves and freezing because I weighed one hundred pounds at five-ten and literally had no body fat to keep me warm. I can never enjoy her music again, as I will forevermore associate it with my slow-mo attempt at suicide.
2004-2005: The Foo Fighters, The Colour And The Shape
I blasted The Foos on my way out of hell and into recovery. The necklines were ripped off of every shirt I owned, as I couldn’t stand to feel fabric touching my throat…I’ve never been one for turtlenecks anyway, but this was different. I needed everything in oversize: long, draping shirts and cotton lounge pants with elastic waistbands. Eating was painful, an act filled with remorse and regret and self-loathing. The looser my clothes were, the less apparent each gained pound felt. Dave Grohl yelled and growled and the drums drove me onward. The quieter songs were soft and forgiving and I could lose myself in the lull, reflecting back to where it all went so terribly wrong. Then the drums kicked in again and shook me out of my reverie, urging me on, reawakening the pulse of the fierce little bad-ass within.
2005: Incubus, A Crow Left Of The Murder
To me, Incubus has it all. No other band is as progressive while still retaining a massive popular appeal. Every album is an impressive evolution from what they previously released. In my humble opinion as a music-maker, Brandon Boyd is one of the most prolific songwriters of his time, and as I continued to find my way back to some semblance of health and balance, it was nice to lose myself in the unique arrangements of that album.
2006: Red Hot Chili Peppers, Blood Sugar Sex Magik
Yes, of course I’d already been listening to this one for years by the time 2006 rolled around, but…I fell in love that year, and hard. I’d met Luke, the man I would eventually marry, back in 2004, but despite our instantaneous, mutual attraction, circumstances had delayed the inevitable. The album that I believe to be the Chili Peppers’ all-time best reverberated its raw, primitive essence throughout my body as I jumped on a giant trampoline and day-dreamed about the next rendezvous with the man I finally got to be with. Our relationship was surreal, intense, and undeniable…much like Blood Sugar Sex Magik. I was happy, voluptuous, and finally, for the most part, at peace with the past. No longer resentful of the childhood I’d felt a bit robbed of, I embraced adulthood and all of the pleasures that came with it.
2007-2008: Van Halen, The Entire Catalog
My husband and I worked out together in the living room of our Long Beach apartment, pumping iron and sweating away while simultaneously laughing at the over-the-top antics of David Lee Roth. Van Halen accompanied us on road trips near and far, serving as motivation to reach our destination and appreciated as a common love between us. Even the substitution of Sammie Hagar on lead vox was enjoyed as a reprieve from Roth’s boyish immaturity. Luke’s goofy air-guitar simulations of Eddie Van Halen never failed to bring a smile to my face when I was taking life too seriously…and I don’t suspect that will change over the course of time!
2008-2009: Rush, 2112
Luke joined the army last fall and I was left alone in the apartment we’d shared, constantly faced with reminders of how much I missed his physical presence. He was conceived to the music of Rush and has loyally claimed them as his favorite band ever since…or so the story goes. I listened to 2112 again and again and again to feel closer to my husband in his absence, filling my being with the sounds that had influenced him throughout his life.
Final Word
In this digital age, I rarely experience full albums anymore, having the option to jump from one artist to another with nothing more than a click of the shuffle button on my iTunes application.
Once upon a time, though, I listened to every song on every album from start to finish, allowing myself to enjoy the concept – intentional or unintentional – that the artist or band communicated. My life has been richer as a result, and writing this piece has inspired me to return to the golden days of seeking out not just one decent single to download, but entire albums to purchase in hardcopy form. With any luck, the next twenty-plus years will be even more worthy of remembrance as a result!
Last 5 posts by Britt Warner
- Burlesque: From Satire to Striptease - March 8th, 2010
- Traits of Inferior Couples - March 6th, 2010
- What Kind Of Music Do You Play? - March 5th, 2010
- For The Girls: 10 Guys You Should NOT Have Sex With - March 3rd, 2010
- Do I LOOK Like Step-Mom Material??? - February 28th, 2010
