A Case Study in Music and Memory

"There are things you can't avoid; You have to face them, when you're not prepared to face them."
-- "Fight Test", by The Flaming Lips

I hear over and over that, of the five senses, smell is most closely linked to memory. I'm sure this is generally true, and there's no doubt I experience this phenomenon often. (For instance, oddly, the scent of a spring dawn always elicits images of Hudson Elementary School from my days as a 2nd grader. I don't know why, but it does.)

You may have noticed I have a strong affinity for music, and I think this influences the fact that sound -- and music, in particular -- randomly forges permanent bonds to certain memories. Some good, some neutral, some not-so-great. An interesting psychological phenomenon, for sure.

Whenever I hear "Glide" by Stone Temple Pilots, I'm immediately transported to nights during fall 2002, when I would drive home from my job as a Tony Roma's busboy at one in the morning in my '89 Jeep Comanche, windows cracked.

Whenever I hear "Merry Christmas From the Family" by Robert Earl Keen, I'm brought to a December concert back in '06, when I was sipping Coronas and hanging with old high school friends at a roadhouse in Tyler, Texas.

Whenever I hear "What Is Love" by Haddaway...

OK, so I'm kidding on that last one, but you get my point.

I don't really love the above songs, but they nevertheless became permanently associated with my past experiences. This is the way it's always worked for me, but recently, the stars aligned in an odd way.

In the last handful of years, my musical tastes have broadened considerably to encompass indie rock (Whatever "indie" is. Tangent: "Is Indie Dead?", a very interesting article by Paste magazine). The Flaming Lips is considered by some to pioneer this genre. A little less than a year ago, I decided I needed to see what all the fuss was about, and I bought their highly acclaimed '02 release, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Then I saw them live.

I was impressed. Very impressed. Yoshimi remained stuck in my car's CD player for several days straight. But interestingly, over time, the album became associated with an experience I didn't like to dwell on. It wasn't a BAD experience per se (the opposite, actually), but it was something from which I needed to move forward. Listening to that album, however, would inevitably conjure images from that period of my life to rush back into my head.

So I avoided it. To hell with my love of the musical qualities of Yoshimi; I just needed to ignore it for a while, letting that memory play out its course and exit my mind, stage left. But months went by, and I remained shy to glance at the CD cover art, much less play it.

Then one day I decided I needed to change things. It may have made sense at the time to avoid the album, but so many months removed, it started to feel silly to go to such lengths. So I put it in my work computer and listened from track 1 to 11, start to finish.

And you know, it was an oddly gratifying experience. The first track spoke directly to me (see the start of the entry), understanding that I felt like I wasn't mentally prepared to clear this psychological hurdle, but reassuring me that I actually was. Afterwards, I got to thinking: Why did I think this would be difficult? And how much did avoiding the album reinforce my overcautiousness?

I'll probably never shake the mental association I have with The Flaming Lips, just like I never will dissociate "Glide" from Tony Roma's. But at least now, as my emotional attachment with it diminishes, I can appreciate Yoshimi for what it is.

A damn good CD.