music feels

I borrowed A Travis CD from a friend. I had not heard the songs since the album came out in 2001. As the distorted bell gave way to a sweet banjo riff, a rush of memories and feelings flooded over me: the smell of cigarettes while riding in the backseat of a car through the labyrinth of North Chattanooga; the slim, sinuous road aside Lookout that should be a one way in the States but in Mexico would pass for a decent two lane; a foggy mountain and forcing my sister to listen to my newly acquired music during early morning drives to school. I still listen to music everyday, gladly so. It is just that music does not usually erect such forgotten, vivid memories.

I know music - depending on what you listen to - can easily cause you to become upbeat or feel wonderfully terrible, but my emotional reaction is usually tepid. That is not to say I have not enjoyed music as of late (for the past couple months have seen me getting lost in Grizzly Bear in a wonderful way); this particular album, however, broke some musical memory floodgate. Now I find myself overly sensitive to music e.g. listening to Beirut while working, I realized tears were forming in my eyes.

It is not that this Travis album is fantastic. Actually, it reminds me of Chuck Klosterman's quote: "[Coldplay] sound like a mediocre photocopy of Travis (who sound like a mediocre photocopy of Radiohead)." It is my personal association with the music, which like other songs or artists can carry meaning, that strikes an internal heart chord. In another seven years, I wonder what music will blow me off my feet, make me think of my banana desk, croquet and the mountains of Mexico.