Memories in music

     Lately, I've been on a kick of the music I grew up listening to. Such as: Godflesh, Drive Like Jehu, Laughing Hyenas, Mule, The Jesus Lizard, Curve.
     It reminds me of when my family lived in Kansas. Breezy spring days with the windows open and the attic fan going. On a good day, when no one was home but my father and me, you could have caught him moshing in the living room with me. Circle-pitting around the coffee table. Him having this grit-teeth, eyebrows parallel, crazed smile that I would soon inherit.
     I remember specifically that one day he had put on Neurosis' Enemy of the Sun. I only remember this one rational thought of hearing the music when I was a kid. I thought, "Wow, these songs are really long. I wonder if I'll like this when I grow up."
     The things that stick with us through the years are so odd. I remember coming from the grocery store with my parents and my sister, once. We pulled in the driveway, and for some reason, I wanted to carry the two gallons of milk. I remember taking them up in my hands. Then a large blank spot. And then dad was taking them from me to put them in the refrigerator. I asked him, "How did I get here?"
      He looked very puzzled. "Huh?" was his reply, I'm sure.
"I don't remember walking inside!"
      He told me I was probably too concentrated on carrying to milk to remember anything else around me. Which makes sense, as I was probably no more than five or six years old. And if you've ever seen a child trying to do something physically or mentally taxing, then you've seen that utter concentration in their eyes. Nothing else matters at that point.
      I also remember moving the coffee table while watching our recorded VHS of Nirvana playing live on MTV to make a stage. I stood on it, no one else in the room, singing "RAKE MEEEE!" having no knowledge of the word rape. Must've been around the same age. But, I also remember stopping because...well I don't recall why I stopped. I felt weird. There was just an odd vibe there sometimes. Even before my sister passed away.
     Music and memories took on such a different meaning. I remember my first personal feeling towards a song, like it was yesterday. I remember the pit in my chest that opened up, the chills down my spine, the closing of my eyes. The feeling that encompasses me when a song hits all the right notes inside.
     My father and I were watching the video for The Perfect Drug from Nine Inch Nails. (I must've been about eight or nine years old.)
     It was after my sister had died. I don't know what it was; The lyrics, the amazing music itself, the imagery of the little girl, the piano at the end. But it tore me the fuck apart. Dad and I didn't say anything about it. I was choked up either way, I couldn't speak with a brick in my throat.
     I still felt very insecure in my ways of showing my sadness, I didn't know how to go about talking in depth about something so personal.
    The song feels so familiar to me. The pissed off, driving rhythm at the beginning. You could kill anything, anyone in your way. The anger overflows into insanity, the drum and bass-like portion to which, in the video, he is preparing and consuming absinthe. And then everything subsides and self-pity comes washing over to tell you, "you're just a bitter, sore, and lonely fuck." Showing to you, your faults, your reasons, and your self-made barriers.
    It hit me like a half-ton pickup in the chest. It still does.

    I remember coming home early from a friends house the same year she passed. Walking up the front steps I heard Timelessness/Resurrection from Fear Factory, playing. Which was a sure shot sign that when I walked in, he would be somewhere in the house crying. He was in his chair, didn't even care to wipe his eyes, he just stuck his arms out to me. I would hug him until he let go, then rub his head.

    He was pretty good friends with Burt and Dino from Fear Factory. And as luck should have it, they came through Kansas that summer to Lawerence. After smoking up the band before the show, he asked them if they would play those two songs in memory of Ali, my sister. They were more than happy to do it for him. And they did, and my Father, my glorious fucking father, sang on stage and stage-dived his ass off.

   I love those kinds of stories. I love that it still happens. I love that music has such an effect on people, even if it sucks.

Music, in a sense, is our memory. It stirs up the silt in the water of our heads. It brings back those feelings that can only be felt in a present-tense once. It's timeless.





-Years after seeing that NIN video for the first time. Last year, I believe, my dad asked me, "does that song make you think of her too?"