The Living Music List #40: On Those Who Share Songs

We can't help but associate music with people and memories, but what if that assocation runs too deep?

Currently listening to: How Soon is Now by The Smiths

I am the son and the heir / Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar / I am the son and heir / Of nothing in particular…

I am human and I need to be loved / Just like everybody else does

Reflection

Hello, friend.

When I was very young, I would visit my dad at his small one-bedroom apartment in a rough part of Pittsburgh. I can only picture the area at night. He would go out and sit on his stoop smoking cigarettes while I stayed inside. I’d lay on his blue spring mattress that was flush on the floor in the back right corner of the narrow bedroom, waiting for him to get back. When he did, I’d beg him to let me play Command and Conquer on his computer that sat in front of the bedroom’s single window, a pitch black portal into an alley where, one foul night, a neighbor shot a dog. I didn’t finish my Hungry Man TV dinner that night.

What song instantly reminds you of a specific person or memory when you hear it?

It’s a silly question, I suppose. That’s the thing about music—it burrows its way into your brain and affixes itself to memories and people, moments and places, emotions and faces. We associate most songs with someone or something that happened to us.

We first heard them when a friend queued them up or a parent put them on a mixtape they would play on the car radio as they drove us to school. Unknowingly, those people stamped their identity on the music like ink on a passport page, a reminder of whose world we visited for a little while. Some souvenirs stuck around longer than others.

How Soon is Now by The Smiths is one of those souvenirs that sits up on my highest shelf, wearing a coat of dust only occasionally disturbed, beside a tattered copy of Little Bear and Wheezy, the discarded toy penguin from TOY STORY 2. I can’t remember the exact moment when the sound of the song’s iconic, reverb-laden riff first cut into my life like helicopter blades, but I know it always made me think of my father.

The days of my early childhood are and were a fragmented haze. Wracking my brain now, I can only manage to recall glimpses (a blessing more than a curse, wish as I might to more vividly experience the beginnings of my consciousness).

Amid the glimpses, though, there is music echoing in the background. The Smiths. Depeche Mode. Duran Duran. The soundtrack of my dad’s young adulthood that became a control group for my own listening experiments as I grew.

How Soon is Now kind of scared me way back then, just a little bit. There’s an edge to it, a darkness. A lot of the ‘80s music I love has some of that in its essence—then again, that whole decade feels dark to me, like a crowded club dancefloor where Morissey stood depressed and alone.

There’s a club if you’d like to go / You could meet somebody who really loves you / So you go and stand on your own / And you leave on your own / And you go home and you cry / And you want to die

You don’t know what the hell a club looks or feels like at age 6. Some kids, though, they do know, in a way, what Morissey meant in the last verse of How Soon is Now.

They know but do not fully understand the pit in their stomach that activates at the news of the approaching weekend.

They know but do not understand the dissonance between their minds and their bodies, the former excited at the prospect of seeing someone it is programmed to love unconditionally and the latter strongly resistant, defensive, and anxious.

They know but do not understand the way that each visit feels pointless and longer than they’d like, because when their other parent picks them up on Sunday, they go home, and they cry alone in their bedroom that has a mattress on a bedframe and bedtime stories read out loud to you and two windows with street lights outside, and they don’t want to die because they have very little concept of death yet but they know they’d do almost anything to not spend another weekend feeling the loneliness and unfulfilled longing they just felt but didn’t understand.

***

How Soon is Now by The Smiths makes me think of my step-dad too. His pallete is populated by the likes of U2, Coldplay, and Silversun Pickups. Back in the first few years when he and my mom were still dating, he drove a silver Audi and used a silver iPod, the classic one, and he’d sometimes play The Smiths on the aux.

When the song reminds me of him, the memory is a clear, sunny day. I’m in the back seat—not sure where we were driving—and feeling content to look out the window and fix my gaze on a point within the fast-moving horizon until it was gone, then flick my eyes to the next spot.

I mishear the lyrics: I am the [sun] and the [air]. I occasionally look away from the window toward the center console where my step-dad’s right hand intertwined with my mom’s left.

A new song plays—Trouble by Coldplay. I lose myself in my thoughts, but they are thoughts of the past, not the present. Hazy memories. I shake them off and tune back into the music.

Just like everybody else does.

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Music Recommendations

Hello again, friend.

Thank you for reading today’s post. I hope you enjoyed the reflection—what songs make you think of someone in your life? Why? Let me know in the comments.

Now, some new songs that maybe you’ll start to associate with me, or someone else will eventually associate with you.

Happy listening.

The Living Music List—Ambient

Note: All of the below ambient projects are available on Bandcamp. Bold and ^ denote reader-submitted work.

1. Vine by Leafblighter (album / melodic, cinematic) [Independent / Bandcamp]^

2. The Reverent Sky by Steve Roach (album / minimalist, meditative) [Independent / Bandcamp]

3. resolve / relate 03 by fields we found / quiet details (longform single / drone, minimalist) [quiet details / Bandcamp]

4. Into the White by Warmth + Fionnlagh (single / dark ambient, cinematic) [d/stant / Bandcamp]

5. evergreen by eve maret (album / vocal ambient, drone) [Aural Canyon / Bandcamp]

6. Music From Airports by Pierce Warnecke (album / experimental, field recordings) [Room40 / Bandcamp]

7. Echolithia by Dead Melodies (album / dark ambient, drone) [Cryo Chamber / Bandcamp]

8. Dystopian Gates by Carlos Pozo (album / dark ambient, industrial) [Independent / Bandcamp]

9. Ghost Codex by The Space Cadet (album / melodic, downtempo) [Independent / Bandcamp]

10. inside by Greg Hooper (longform single / dark ambient, sound art) [leaf /// wave sound / Bandcamp]

The Living Music List—All Genres

Note: All of the below projects are available on major streaming services. Reminder: Bandcamp links only provided for reader-submitted work in the all genres list.

1. New Thing by Avery Friedman (single / indie rock) [Audio Antihero / Bandcamp]^

2. Portrait of My Heart by SPELLING (album / indie rock)

3. IC-02 Bogotá by Unknown Mortal Orchestra (album / instrumental psych funk)

4. More by Wallows (album / alternative)

5. Arcadia by Arcadia Krauss & Union Station (album / bluegrass)

6. RUSHMERE by Mumford & Sons (album / alt folk)

7. Forever Is A Feeling by Lucy Dacus (album / alternative)

8. Glory by Perfume Genius (album / alternative)

9. Dan’s Boogie by Destroyer (album / alternative)

10. Keep Your Soul Young by Amparo (album / electronic)

11. 22:22 by Polo & Pan (album / dance pop)

12. All Set Let’s Swim by Liam Mour (album / electronic)

13. Versus by Doltz & Tobias. (album / electronic)

14. eternal sunshine deluxe: brighter days ahead by Ariana Grande (deluxe album / electronic pop)

15. Entering Lumon (ODESZA Severance Remix) by Theodore Shapiro (single / lofi electronic)

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The Press Box

In this week’s edition of the The Press Box, we’re previewing a new record out next Friday from Umor Rex.

Música Aperta by Nicolás Melmann — Out April 4 on Umor Rex

For some artists, solitude is a viable means to a musical end. Bon Iver made For Emma, Forever Ago in his log cabin. Radiohead produced OK Computer in a shed and a backwoods mansion. Nicolás Melmann took his turn making Música Aperta at Château Éphémère, an art residency on the outskirts of Paris.

For four months, the Argentinian musician holed up there, crafting the record in three parts. As he wove acoustic and electronic sounds into subtle but highly detailed tapestries that could have adorned the bare walls of his confined space, Melmann reflected on the compositions of “furniture music” pioneer Erik Satie. He transformed his space into a refuge of calm and contemplation, and next week, Música Aperta may transform your own space too when it releases on Umor Rex.

Meditative and minimalist, yet intricate and emotive, the electroacoustic album unfolds and envelops you over 36 minutes, an uncertain length when paired with the stretching sound that might feel like hours or mere seconds.

Música Aperta is Melmann’s first physical release, but the artist has already released six albums and toured in Asia, Europe, and the Americas. He has also produced music and sound for television, film, dance, and theater, and his work has been represented at numerous venues and festivals. Música Aperta was mastered by ambient musician and engineer Rafael Anton Irisarri at Black Knoll Editions, and the artwork on the cover is courtesy of Umor Rex boss Daniel Castrejón.

A limited run of 300 light blue vinyls will be available when the album releases (pictured below). Starting April 3, Música Aperta can also be experienced as a reactive audiovisual-reactive interface hosted on a website where images dynamically respond to the music's behavior, translating electroacoustic frequencies into real-time cinematic landscapes. According to the album’s page on the Umor Rex site, listeners will be able to interact with different layers of sound through a virtual mixer, enabling them to create unique, personal sonic combinations and experiences.

RSVP to join the Bandcamp Listening Party on April 1 at 4 PM EDT and wishlist the album on Bandcamp so you can listen and purchase when it releases on Friday, April 4.

Thank you to Karen Vogt at Klang Signals for sharing information about this record.

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That’s all for this week’s issue. Thank you for reading. Until next time.

Your friend,

Melted Form

Remember to listen to the hum, buzz, & hiss of the world around you—there is music to be heard there.

Read the previous issue of The Living Music List:

The Living Music List #39: On Trivia Night

Afterword—Let’s Get In Touch

Are you an artist, a label owner, or a member of the press? Want to share an in-depth feature of your upcoming release, an advertisement, or a guest post for a future Hum, Buzz, & Hiss issue? Get in touch with me at meltedform@gmail.com. As always, I would love to hear and recommend your music, especially if it’s new and ambient/electronic/experimental.