This songs matters to me, because: (your explanation here)

Don't anybody be intimidated by something someone else has written. I can't write like jgmacg or Jones can, and if I let that scare me too much, I'd never post. It's not a contest here. It's about what matters to you. And it can be short and sweet, funny and sad, long and weepy, cheesy or serious. Whatever you want. It's just a trip down memory lane with the help of a song.

 

Like I said before, music and poetry have given me a sense to fully discover who I am. Spoken word means so much to me and as I said I tend to express better in lyric form than in sentences, here's something I just wrote:

More Than a Word

For the longest time, confidence was just a word
I could see it in print, but the lines were blurred
I didn't know how it could change a life
I was just in college, living through pain and strife

Always picked on, most from my own doing
My outlook became darker, a small storm was brewing
I sat up at night and wondered why it was me
I couldn't put up a fight, my life was full of debris

Previous relationships lost, further destroying others
Lost in a web of deceit, annoying both father and mother
I never meant to hurt them but nothing would aid
The distrust they felt and the calling of spades

But something changed on that one November night
It was 2005 and I could see a small light
But when I tried to grasp it, my hand couldn't clasp it
It was keeping me trapped like being held back by plastic

It was up to me to break through, I was offered a chance
Do a SLAM poetry night, be a white boy making a stance
So I agonized and debated on whether to do it
But that night came up on me before I knew it

So I entered the room with a couple “friends” in tow
No one knew what that night would bestow
So I put my name down an alias of sorts
I was nervous, but the people I brought would support

So here I was, the only white guy in the room
I stood out like a light, the white cloud in the gloom
But when my name was called, I punched my ticket
Stood behind the mic and well, I couldn't hear crickets

400 people in the room, all eyes were on me
I delivered my first line, as nervous as can be
I took a deep breath and let it all go
Got a chuckle here and there, they were there for a show

The words that I wrote flew off of my tongue
Struck a chord in their minds and a new desire was sprung
So I continued to speak and deep inside of my soul
I could feel a burning, like adding gasoline to coal

I was vibing with the crowd, they were loving the lines
They sat back and relaxed and let the white boy rhyme
Once I finished, I got a standing ovation and later I did find
They loved when I said, “Call me the John Elway of sex, I love to come from behind.”

I shook hands with many and learned even more names
I looked at them all in the eye, I was on the top of my game
They invited me again to the next SLAM Poetry night
I bombed that one, I wasn't feeling it right

From that one night, I could feel a difference in the air
Maybe it was the way I walked, maybe I even grew a pair
But when I sat down and my eyes suddenly became un-blurred
I finally realized that yes, confidence was more than a word

 

DD, if I could write one story the way you write when you're not even trying, I'd walk away from this business knowing I'd never top that effort.

Kudos on a great thread and several great posts.

 

I hope a classical piece can be included in this thread (and with apologies to all my writer friends)

Becoming a singer was not supposed to be my life. I was supposed to get married and raise a family like all good European Catholic girls. My career options varied between high school band teacher and social worker.

I couldn't afford to go to University when I graduated high school. I went to work and moved out on my own at the age of 18 to avoid having to choose which parent to live with when my folks split up. I was hungry for things I didn't know how to express - something more than the life I saw before me. I wanted a place of my own having grown up in a smallish house with 6 siblings and various foster kids in and out through the years. I didn't even know what I wanted. It was unnameable at the time - I just wanted something else. I fantasized frequently about stepping in front of a moving car. I didn't want to die. I just wanted to be hurt badly enough to remove me from this endless plodding path that went on without variation until I died, a death which would occur in the same suburb I was born in.

Then, at 25 I finally got a chance to attend university. I was going to finally become a high school music teacher. I applied to 4 schools and since I hadn't owned an instrument since I graduated high school (having had to pawn my clarinet to make rent when I was 19) I auditioned as a voice major. I knew I could carry a tune and it was the one instrument you didn't need previous instruction on. Plus, since I was going to be a Music Ed major the standards were lower. I made a mental list in order of preference for the 4 schools and decided that the highest one on my list was the one I'd attend. I got acceptance to schools 2 and 3, was turned down by # 4 who wanted me to have more training. Then the letter from school #1 came.

I was out with my mom for the afternoon when I called my apartment to check in with my younger sister who had come to live with me. She told me that there was an envelope from School #1 waiting for me. My mom insisted on stopping by my place to pick it up. I went in to get the mail and then came back out to her car and just sat there. I was too afraid to open it. I didn't want a rejection but acceptance was terrifying too since the main reason for placing this school first on my list was that it was the only one in a different city from my family.

I just sat there in the car, holding the envelope while my mother urged me to open it. Finally, I tore the flap open and pulled out the letter. I got as far as "We are pleased..." before I started to cry.

So the upshot is I went away. I became the first of my siblings (and the only one as of this writing) to move away from Vancouver. I became the first and only person in my family to get a University degree. In fact, I got two. And I met my voice teacher and his wife who was my vocal coach. They became my artistic parents. They took on a kid (even at 25) who was so afraid that everything she felt was wrong and stupid that she couldn't even walk in staging rehearsals (I kept falling off the sides of my shoes) and they never gave up on her. They showed me a world where for the first time in my life I truly made sense as a person. When people told me and them that we were wasting our time they told me that as long as I was willing to keep at it, they would be there. And when they were offered a position at a prestigious university 3,000 miles away they made it a condition that I be allowed to follow them and do my Masters there.

Performance opportunities were few for me but in the first year of my Masters the school was doing a performance of Mahler's Second Symphony using professional soloists. This is a stunning work and the 4th movement is a beautiful solo for contralto known as "Urlicht" - a child's profession of faith with some of the most beautiful music ever written for my voice type. I asked for permission to understudy informally and the conductor okayed it. And then he invited me to sing the movement at one of the orchestral rehearsals.

It's an experience I've never been able to adequately describe. I stood alone on the stage between the conductor and the concertmaster facing into the orchestra. The orchestra had over 100 instrumentalists and I stood in the middle of them - unmiked - and this glorious music poured out of me and rose above and through and with the orchestra. The movement only lasts about 4 and half minutes and when we finished, there was this incredible silence. And in that one instant I knew. Knew in my heart that every decision I had made - leaving home, leaving a regular paycheque, leaving everything I owned to move across the country - every decision had led me to this moment. And the moment was perfect.

I have sung bigger works. I have sung with better technique. I have sung in large opera houses and been on T.V. and even in movies. But nothing has ever topped that moment. It was the moment I became who I am instead of who I thought I was supposed to be or allowed to be.

And everytime I hear that work, that moment comes back to me. In my darkest days ( and I've had some doozies as those who have read the depression thread will know) playing that piece saves me. It brings back that moment in an empty recital hall, standing on that stage with the orchestra, knowing that I had every right to be there.

 

Beautiful. Thank you so much, HC.

Just beautiful. The writing, the descriptions, the emotion, the imagery.

Beautiful.

 

I literally choked up a couple of times reading your story about your father, Double Down. Literally fought back tears.

I've been thinking about this thread in the days since my last story on it. Now I want to take a journey to a song that brings me some of my favorite memories of all time. The song I'm writing about is my all-time favorite song by anyone. Bar none. Every time I hear it, I feel instantly better. I feel as though everything will work out for the best.

That song is Fleetwood Mac's Gypsy. I'm not sure what moment led me to decide that this song was my all-time favorite, but that it is. I suppose one moment that comes to mind is a day when I was working at a computer lab at a nearby university. For some reason that I no longer remember, I was in a horrible mood. It was one of those say the wrong thing and watch me spontaneously combust all over you moods. I walked in with that dark look of anger on my face and it didn't take long for my bosses to see that I wasn't in the right frame of mind.

They asked me what the matter was a couple of times, and I wanted nothing to do with voicing whatever it was. The problem I had was one that I, and I alone would have to sort through. I did not want anyone invading the private sanctum of my mind, my feelings, my vulnerabilities. Least of all people I'd see on pretty much an everyday basis. So I bade them to not worry about it, that I'd get through it. The manager even offered to let me go home for the day rather than go about my job duties with a gigantic chip on my shoulder. However, I knew that would likely be the only time I'd ever have that offer ... so I declined. I'd work my way through the feelings.

Lunchtime came and we all went to Pizza Hut. I went up to the jukebox wanting to play some music. When I saw the CD in there, I only wanted one song: "Gypsy." I don't remember all that happened; suffice to say I walked back with that dark cloud dominating every ounce of me. I unenthusiastically set about eating my pizza until I heard the opening chords. At this point, I don't remember if I actually selected the song or if someone else did. I doubt it really matters. All I know is that as soon as I heard the opening chords and instantly recognized the song, it felt as if Stevie Nicks herself was sending assurance to me that everything would be all right. I was in a much better frame of mind the rest of the day. My now-forgotten problem wasn't resolved, but it was put in its place.

Just a few months later, I was trying to set up a first-time in person meeting with a woman I'd become friendly with after we encountered each other on a newsgroup devoted to Stevie Nicks. We'd corresponded via e-mail and telephone, but now we were going to meet up at a Borders at a relatively convenient location for both of us. We'd faced delays, her in driving, me in public transit, but finally I was at the Borders. The phone rang and it turned out to be for me, so I answered. It was her. We talked for a moment to set up the meeting, and then as soon as I gave the phone back to the employee who had called out my name, I heard it. "Gypsy." I thought to myself, "this will work out." It did. We met finally, and before you knew it, we'd burned about three hours just sitting and talking. It wasn't like two strangers who'd never met before and were awkwardly discussing the weather in an effort to find one fleeting thing in common. This was a conversation between kindred souls, two people who already knew each other and had built a connection.

To this day, it's the song I sing at karaoke that is the highest compliment I can pay anyone. If you're there when I go up on stage and I dedicate "Gypsy" to you, it's an honor that transcends words.

 

HC, that is wonderful. It is one thing to hear music, and quite another to make music. You have a gift.

 

Double Down, HC, Forever Town ... those are some great stories.

This thread almost makes me wish more of the seminal moments in my life had music associated with them so I could tell more.

I'll say this ... I probably have a story from today that will undoubtedly become fonder to me as the years go on. My 5-year-old daughter was helping me rip my CDs into iTunes today, religiously asking me about the groups and song titles, reading some of the ones she could sound out, and telling me how many stars I should give each song. She was so proud to click on all the songs and drag them into my iTunes song group.

"What's this, daddy?"

"Flamin' Groovies. Uncle Z-Man gave it to me."

"(pointing to the album title) ... What does this say?"

"It's the name of the album -- Teenage Head."

"AH HA! That's a silly name. How many songs are we going to pick?"

"I don't know, I don't listen to it that much, but let's give it a shot."

"Oooh. I like this song. It ROCKS. What is it?"

"'Louie, Louie.' It's a famous song."

"Five stars! Five stars!"

I have to admit, she was right. Their version of Louie, Louie pretty much rawks.

Between that and my 4-year-old boy slapping on the iPod and head-bobbin' like a pro to Parliament's Give Up The Funk, dutifully following along with George Clinton's mantra, "we want the funk!", it was a good day in the Bubbler house.

 

I think HC's is a good post to go to bed on.
Well done, singer lady.

 

The name has nothing to do with hockey. This might be the only time I ever post here.

I've been reading this site a long time, but somehow this thread has touched me and moved me to add my 1.5 cents -- I wouldn't presume to value whatever follows as worthy of being 2 cents -- to the marvelous writing and sometimes wrenching emotions laid bare before us.

"Miss You," The Rolling Stones

Now, I wouldn't call myself a huge Stones fan and I wouldn't argue if you want to dismiss the song as disco piffle, but one summer in the late 1970s, I couldn't escape it.

I was still in college, working a job that taught me all about money -- how boring it is to count and how heavy it is to lug around. But at least I had weekends off. And practically every weekend, I'd drive to Jersey to see my girlfriend. Invariably, we headed to the Shore. Seaside, Belmar, Lavallette ...

My God, how she looked in her two-piece suits. To quote Woody Allen: "Her figure described a set of parabolas that could cause cardiac arrest in a yak."

And no matter what New York station I tuned into on the car radio, "Miss You" soon would be playing. Once on the beach, I'd hear it blaring from a few blankets over. Walking the boardwalk, I'd hear it mixed with come-ons from purveyors of the rigged games. Driving her back to her parents' house, I could see her doze off to it.

She was so beautiful, I thought, so what was she doing with me? I was nondescript, chubby, far from rich and unlikely ever to be that way. (When she informed her parents she was dating a journalism major, her mother asked when I was changing my major or when her daughter was changing boyfriends.) However, I wasn't going to think too hard, possibly jinxing my luck.

"Askin' people, whatsamatter wit you, boy?"

What was my biggest worry that summer? Whether the Chevy Nova would make it up and back on Route 9 without stranding us on the side of the road. There was the one time it didn't. This time, I decided to take part of the trip on the Garden State Parkway. I had the AC on full blast to combat the steamy Jersey air. Soon enough, the Nova overheated. I pulled into a Parkway service station, where I proceeded to get ripped off by a mechanic who solved the problem by removing the thermostat from my car (as I found out that winter, when I couldn't get any heat). Longer lasting, though, was the equation that has stayed in head ever since: Air conditioning equals overheating. As passengers in my cars have learned over 30 years, I remain loath to crank up the cooling. ("Feel that breeze," I'd tell the kids as we motored along at 40 mph through another stagnant summer day.)

"Miss You" still transports me to a Jersey beach, with no one to answer to, no one I'm responsible for, the only downer that I'd have to return to the brain-cell-killing summer job in a couple of days. It still brings a smile to my face.

And what happened to that girl who could kill off yaks with her figure? She became my wife. Then after about 20 years and two kids, she became my ex-wife. Which is why I cannot stand to listen to the Turtles' "Happy Together." But that's another story.

Thank you, DD, for launching this thread and so eloquently setting the tone. And now I fade away ...

 

This isn't as well-written or as emotional as any of the previous posts, but when I thought of "songs that matter to me," these two immediately sprang to mind.

It was the summer of 1999, and I was 15 years old.

I was a lonely teenager who'd moved halfway across the country the previous summer. My mother had taken a job teaching in Boston while my father, who I adored, stayed in Texas at his old job. I did not want to stay in Boston. I hated the people, I hated the weather, I hated the way everyone had no idea how to pronounce the letter R or constantly mocked my home state and old friends.

The first year of high school had sucked. My sister, in seventh grade, had easily adapted to the new social customs and friends. I was a loner who did drama and music and was too smart to do my homework. I had a few friends, but not many, and I began a long process of eating my way into an unhealthy weight.

But that summer, two magical events happened, the first time I'd ever seen sports as escapism, used them to bond with my parents and feel a part of something bigger.

The first was the Dallas Stars playoff run. They went all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals, but more important to me, they were on television most of the time. I had no idea what this sport was, no idea why they used five guys instead of 11 or why the goalie had a funky stick, but I knew they were from home. The represented a place very dear to my heart, and I became supremely emotionally invested in the run.

They won the Stanley Cup as I sat on my blue-and-white checked sheets, watching a 13 inch screen with the ESPN feed. I was terrified to see them lose, so I kept flipping channels and missed the Cup winning goal. I didn't cry then, but I did after they showed the video montage at the end. The words of Bon Jovi's Real Life hit me.

As a melodramatic, self-centered, soon-to-be sophomore in high school, that summed up my life perfectly at the time. And to this day, that song not only reminds me of the high I felt after that game, but the low of realizing I wasn't a part of it, and that was no longer my home.

The morning after that game, the Women's World Cup started. Normally I could not have cared less about soccer, but both of my parents were players, refs and coaches at various points in their lives. I'd picked up the tournament bug from my mom, and carried it to Texas when I went to visit my father for the summer.

It was awesome. I knew jack squat about soccer, so they'd spend hours upon hours watching with me and teaching me about tactics, players and the sport's history. It was especially amazing to have those conversations with my mother, who I'd been resentful towards since the move.

Before the final game, they had a montage set to a Natalie Merchant song. The pictures didn't matter. It was the words that resonated.

Those three weeks were the turning point in my teenage life, and have kind of shaped my life since. I found an outlet for my emotional energy and a new bond with my parents. I found a passion and a career.

And both songs, especially These are the Days by Natalie Merchant, remind me of the summer where my life changed.

 

Not as upbeat as most, but this is the first one I thought of.

I was 12 years old, and I loved to bowl. I looked forward each week to our Saturday morning bowling league at the neighborhood lanes. But this fall was going to be a little different. It happened that one of the local bullies decided he liked to bowl, too. And he talked his four friends, all bullies of varying degree themselves, to join him to make a team.

They were good. And they were bullies. They'd not only beat us on the lanes, they'd intimidate me and my friends, step outside to smoke a cig, come back in and rag on us. And on that one Saturday morning when it became clear I wasn't enjoying my weekly bowling league anymore, for some reason, I remember In The Year 2525 by Zager & Evans was playing on the bowling alley jukebox.

I fucking hate that song.