Graphic by Isa Renée
For as long as I can remember, music has been a part of my life. From the time I was three years old in the supermarket shouting to my dad that “Elmo Costello was playing” instead of Elvis Costello, to my first concert —Taylor Swift’s “Fearless” tour — to my final piano recital, to this moment as I listen to music in the hope that it will inspire my writing, music is so closely tied who I am. Music has left an indelible mark on my life and has arguably been the force that has shaped my identity most. There isn’t anything else I can think of that makes me feel more like myself. So many moments where I’ve felt euphoric freedom, so many instances of inspiration and so many of my most cherished memories are all tied to music. Music links my life together, creating a never-ending playlist that I use to trace everyone I’ve ever meant, every place I’ve ever been and everything I have ever gone through. It’s the one thing that links my life together, making it something that I can clearly trace throughout my lifetime, watching myself grow and change over and over again. Certain songs mark parts of my life in more powerful ways than others and the songs below have shaped me most significantly.
- One of my earliest memories of music is dancing to “Ray of Light” by Madonna with my mom in the living room of our old house. While I can not envision the specifics of this memory, I vividly remember the way it felt. I know it was just me and my mom, alone together and beyond joyful. We have smiles stretched across our faces and there is pure euphoria in our movements. We’re carefree and there isn’t any kind of stress in our lives, we’re just free to dance. Nothing was holding us back and when I think about this moment, it’s how I imagine the phrase “dance like nobody’s watching” would appear.
- When I was about six, my mom stumbled across a video of a skateboarder performing at a museum in Germany. The song in the video was “West Coast” by Coconut Records and my young, childish ears had never heard anything like that song before. I fell in love with it instantly. My mom printed out the lyrics for me, and I spent hours singing in my room, lyrics clutched in my little fist and a pair of silver aviator sunglasses on to complete the look. I still have those paper lyrics tucked away in my dresser. “West Coast” was the first time I was conscious of hearing “indie” music, which is by far my favorite genre. This introduction to a style of music that has become so closely linked to how I perceive and understand myself was incredibly influential. “West Coast” is actually still my favorite song today. It has been for over a decade now, and quite honestly I don’t think that could ever change. There’s so much of myself from the time I was six up to now woven into the song with every note, every lyric, every strum of the guitar and every beat of the drum. Everytime I hear it, I feel like I’m listening to a part of myself, as if I’m tuning into the radio station of my soul.
- My sophomore year of high school was the height of my track and field career. I was in love with the sport. I ran as if there was nothing in the world that could stop me. There was one pivotal race that made me fall in love with running and music in an entirely new way. On the slow bus ride to Staten Island, my track coach was playing music and selected the song “We Come Running” by Youngblood Hawke (fitting, I know). I’d never heard the song before but I was so struck by it that day. It worked its way through my ears, mind and body so that when I stepped on to the starting line, it was coursing through my veins alongside my adrenaline. As soon as the gun sounded, I was running in a way I’d never run before. I led the entire race, immune to the exhaustion and pain, totally focused and more determined than I had ever been before. It was the fastest half mile I ever ran and the absolute perfect race. The whole way through, music was pounding in my ears to the beat of each step I took on the track.
- High school graduation wasn’t a sad event for me. Honestly, I was ecstatic. My high school days were behind me, college was on the horizon and I didn’t want to wait another second. However, as summer drew to a close, I realized there was a second graduation I had forgotten about. I had been taking piano lessons with the same instructor every Wednesday since fourth grade. Without even realizing it, my teacher had become a mentor, a guide and an inspiration. Piano was the “extracurricular” I had taken for granted, that I hadn’t thought of much. At my last lesson though, I realized it had actually been far more important than I had considered it for the nine years I spent trekking to lessons each week. As we my lesson was wrapping up, my teacher had me take out my phone to record the last 15 minutes as he interspersed playing parts of the piece I was working on — “Toccata” by Aram Khatchaturian — and explanations of techniques and specifics to practice. We wouldn’t get to finish this last piece together, I was on my own to play now. I was suddenly beyond heartbroken at the realization of this ending. The thought of my empty Wednesday nights made a part of me feel empty inside. There is still a bittersweet taste in my mouth when I practice on my own today, knowing that I am long past my childhood piano lessons and that I will never work through a piece with my instructor ever again.
Music has been the solace, the inspiration, the willpower, the sanity, the confidence and the friend I’ve always had with me as I’ve grown up. When the world felt like too much to handle, I could find my own world through music. Whether it’s putting in headphones and drowning out every other sound, sprinting to a single song on repeat, letting my hands meld with the piano to play out my emotions across 88 keys or writing lyrics that just spill out everything I’m feeling, music extracts the toxins from my body and mind that keep me down. Music is as much a part of me as my memories and myself. And these few songs are just a part of the playlist of my life.
grain of salt 