They say memories are connected to our sense of smell and while I can't disagree with that fact I find my strongest memories are connected to music. For me it's not so much what I smelled but what I heard. Music and art in general have been a big influence on me ever since I was kid growing up. I remember my dad putting on funk and jazz and even punk. There was always music in the house. I never took to learning how to play a musical instrument, unlike my dad and more like my mother, I was a more animated character. I liked to dance, and sing and in that paying more attention to the words, which I guess makes sense now, me being a writer and all, and also how I felt listening to them, than to the music from a technical point of view. I remember going to the cinema with my dad to watch Fellini's Casanova and although I remember little of the movie itself, I remember the music. My dad bought a CD of the soundtrack( I think I may have even asked for it) and I remember listening to it all day and creating a choreography which I performed each time we had people over. As I got older my amusement with dancing was gone and I moved onto singing. Then writing lyrics for my own potential songs. You know, I've found you can be fascinated by someone else doing something but not necessarily being into to it yourself. I mean would it be cool to be able to play an instrument? Sure. But I can't really see myself doing it. I always admired my father's paintings but never wanted to be a painter myself.
Yet music was always there for me, in the heart of all my fondest recollections. I watched Nick Cave's "20,000 Days on Earth" and what stuck with me most from the film wasn't his music in particular even though I love it. It was something he said, the way I felt when my friend was braiding my hair while watching it and how at one point I got so lost in the moment watching him perform that I applauded as if I was there, in the front row of his concert, having just heard my favorite song. He said something in one bit that got me thinking. He was asked what he fears most and he said losing his memory, "cause memory is what we are. I think our very soul, our very reason to be alive, is tied up in memory". Strangely I connected this to music again, whether it was because a musician was the one saying it or because music plays such an important role in each of our lives. I thought about all the concerts I've been to and all the concerts I regretted missing, and even the ones I will go to in the future. The first thing that came to mind is when a few years back, my dad and I went to a Marcello Rota concert ( the nephew of Nino Rota who wrote the soundtrack for Fellini's Casanova that I loved so much) and at one moment I glanced over at my dad and he was crying. You see, when I think about places I've been, music I've heard or sang along to, I often don't remember a particular song, but who I was with, the way I felt and the way they reacted. It's kind of odd to imagine that I am a kind of a silent observer of the way other people react but it's sort of like brushing your own hair, it will never feel as good as when someone else is doing it for you. Quite in the same way as I see it, nothing will be as funny if you have no one to laugh with you and the music will never be as loud when the person next to you isn't transforming into a screaming glorious mouthpiece for the sound of your favorite tune. I saw this movie once and it was the documentation of a couple's sexual relationship corresponding to the gigs they went to together and the music they listened to. Basically it was porn with a really good soundtrack, it was an interesting concept though. Music molds us and creates bonds with others in a way that little else can.
I guess it was a few years back, I went to a Clutch concert and, more than the music, the crazy crowd or that fact that I almost thought I was going to die in the midst of a pit, mostly I remember my lover's arms around me, protecting me, while the music resonated through my body like a second pulse, transforming me into a whole with the mob and at the same time a separate elated entity, as I knew that this moment would create a different meaning and memory for each and every one of us. Sometimes I'll see two strangers unknowingly creating a moment with each other as they howl and roar, as if to surpass the speakers, their bodies flailing in the interchanging lights shining from above the stage. Other times it's a couple, they almost secretly stare at each other, even though they have nothing to hide, but they do so swiftly, not to miss one second of the band's godlike manifestation. She suddenly sees him as one with the band, reaching out to him as if trying to catch every note that he belts out in the palm of her hand. He, the performer, sees only her while everyone else around them disappears, he counts each breath she draws as if she were his own human metronome, and as she reaches out he hopes that she tears of his clothes and rips out his heart to hold and keep as her own. At the same time, my friend is clasping my hand as we make our way towards the bar, Kasabian's "Underdog" blasting in the background and I can feel the sweat in his palm, can hear his breath as he inhales the smoke from his cigarette and the gravel rumbling beneath his footsteps. A few months later that same friend crosses his arms across his chest and swallows in his dry throat, as our third party pleasantly interrupts the silence of our company to remark on how good the band is. I'm moving my hands and arms rhythmically to the sound of 70s, psychedelic-like tunes, sometimes purposefully caressing my floral dress to feel the soft fabric. We are now at an Allah-Las gig on a crisp November, Saturday night. These moments aren't mutually exclusive to other people or to big chaotic concerts of course but despite the time and place,whether it was from your childhood or yesterday, as they seamlessly as they unfold they can then be re-animated by the sound of that same familiar music and almost take on a life of their own after a while, clinging to the person you were at that moment or the person you were with even if that person in both cases is long gone.
I trust that in the "true"(which is definitely not this) spirit of the Halloween tradition, all you girls and boys, danced, got drunk and frolicked in streets, clubs and restrooms dressed as slutty bunnies and pop culture icons. I, myself am more of Christmas kinda gal and no, I don't mean I like Christmas, oh no honey, I AM Christmas! I get the fascination with Halloween though. For kids it's more about the candy and dressing up as their favorite heroes and for adults it's more about hooking up with strangers while pretending to be someone else(which is true in most cases anyway). We all have as people this strong urge to be someone else, someone better, or provocative and sexually suggestive, generally to pretend but we also don't want to be judged for it. Halloween poses the perfect opportunity. In traditional folklore people supposedly dressed up so that the dead that walked among the living only on this night, wouldn't recognize them. Nowadays I guess its more about escaping our own realities and ordinary selves. I too, went to a costume party last night , actually to two if I'm being honest, dressed as a film noir vamp(or a fancy prostitute, I mean however you wanna look at it...just kidding! But really as a reference to Mean Girls I could've been booo, you whore! but sadly no one asked). Getting ready was a kind of ritual, of getting in the vintage mood. I pin curled my hair and put on dramatic makeup while listening to jazzy tunes. I wore stockings with a garter belt, gloves, a hair piece and a skirt that prevented me from ever sitting down again for the rest of the evening! My friends went as a corpse bride, Marie Antoinette *post guillotine and Luna, Sailor Moon's cat(I did her cat makeup!). We felt fabulous as we walked down the street, all eyes of casually dressed people on us. If they were making fun of us, we didn't care. In fact, I'd love to walk around like that every day. At the party everyone was dressed up as something scary, skeletons, ghosts, ghouls and one guy who was dressed as a terrifying scarecrow, who I would not want to run into alone. Thankfully no clowns! Also thankfully no slutty nurses or cops or slutty-anythings for that matter. We choked on the gallons of dry-ice that gave the place an eerie horror movie effect, drank out of water bottles filled with wine we brought from home and danced like nobody's business to 90s pop anthems. Going to the bathroom was a bit of nightmare as was having to squeeze back into my skirt but even that was kinda fun. We also took like a million pictures in which my face almost looks exactly the same! Until next time, Happy post-Halloween hangover!