Audio memory

On Saturday, JG and I headed to the Lancaster area to see one of our favorite bands, Caedmon’s Call, in concert. When we saw them for the first time, not all of the band members were able to be there, but the music was great, and hey, the show was free. This time, it was so much fun to see the entire group, and they put on a really great show.

We were prepared for the general admission seating, so JG took my hand and made a beeline for the front, where we scored third-row seats. Plus, I had the added short-person bonus of an empty seat in front of me. Yes! The concert had the expected characteristics — all-time favorite tunes, chest-thumping bass, and encore numbers — but I was struck by how Caedmon’s Call music immediately called up specific events from my life. Throughout the concert, my mind flipped quickly through a Rolodex of memories to arrive at whatever moment was most closely associated with the song.

“This World” brought me back to a retreat in college, when two guitarists and song leaders, Kimby and Dan, played this song for the group. I was a freshman at the time, and I was completely impressed with those seniors, their friendship, and their musicality. When the band struck up the opening chords, I felt a little ache in my chest.

When I was a youth leader, I led a discussion based on the lyrics to “Shifting Sand.” Between looking up the definition of “precarious” and referencing old stories they had known for years, I saw that rare glimmer of comprehension poke out of a group of a dozen high school girls.

JG and I call “Two Weeks in Africa” “Kristina’s song,” after one of our closest friends. She took a trip to Kenya during college, and I am convinced that it is a matter of time until she tells us that she’s going back for good. As soon as I heard those opening chords, I remembered that we told her about this song as soon as we heard it, and she said sheepishly, “Apparently, I have a reputation for Africa or something.” At the concert, I flipped open my phone and called her, on the off chance that she would be able to hear the song through my speaker phone. I left a hoarse, follow-up voicemail after the fact to explain myself, and she called me back today: “I could barely make anything out from that first voicemail, but I could kind of hear that it was Caedmon’s, and then I heard you shrieking every so often.” Good enough, I think!

Of course, the concert couldn’t include all of our favorites. “Ballad of San Francisco” would have taken me straight back to my dorm room, as I strained to plunk out power chords on a borrowed guitar. “Love is Different” was the unofficial anthem of JG’s and my first dating days. “Daring Daylight Escape” ran through my mind as I waited to hear from JG after what I knew was a conversation with my dad to ask for permission to propose. I listened to “Walk with Me” on repeat during a sad train ride.

It’s curious how that works — how songs can bring back such strong images and emotions from whatever event goes along with them. Now, I can add another one to the file: sitting at that concert next to JG, squeezing his hand, and singing along with the band.

Sunday Scribblings #100: Time Machine