In the small town where I live, one of our nicer restaurants often has their satellite radio tuned to a station that plays exclusively soft rock from the 80s and early 90s. Air Supply. Foreigner. A little Journey or, if we’re really lucky, solo Steve Perry. But there’s one song that seems to come on every time we eat there, one song that causes my wife to reach across the table, grab my hand and whisper, “Don’t sing. Don’t sing. Don’t sing. I mean it.”
The song I’m talking about is Chicago’s song “Look Away,” which a quick Internet search tells me was written by Diane “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” Warren. I didn’t know this until just ten minutes ago, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Like every other Diane Warren song I know, “Look Away” expresses its ideas about love in rather obvious, sentimental ways. The song is written from the point of view of a young man whose ex-girlfriend—with whom he still has a friendship—calls to tell him about her new love. In fact, the lead vocalist (whose name is not Peter Cetera) opens the song with the observation, “When you called me up this morning/ Told me about the new love you’d found/ I said I’m happy for you/ I’m really happy for you.” Of course, things aren’t really that simple; as it turns out, our speaker is still in love with his former paramour/ current friend, but he can’t possibly act on those feelings. For some reason. So he assures her that he’s “fine,” but then admits that “sometimes [he] just pretend[s].” In the chorus he tells her: “If you see me walking by/ And the tears are in my eyes/ Look away, baby, look away… Don’t look at me/ I don’t want you to see me this way.”
This is not a particularly good song. In fact, I don’t think it’s very good at all. But I love it anyway, and feel the urge to sing along with not-Peter Cetera every time it comes on. This desire has nothing to do with Diane Warren’s craft or not-Peter Cetera’s singing, and has everything to do with the memories this song evokes for me.
Imagine, if you will, your humble narrator as a 7th-grade boy. In the dimly-lit gym, wearing his nicest slacks and a shirt with buttons, watching—sadly—as the love of his life smiled her metallic smile at or rested her permed head upon the shoulder of… well, that doofus she was in love with. They slow-danced awkwardly, while the young me stood off to the side, heart breaking, while not-Peter Cetera assured his own love “I’m really happy for you” even though he was dying on the inside as surely as I was. Yes, I thought, this song must have been written specifically for me.
I know that this sounds like a bad memory, but as a disciple of Joan Didion, I agree with her that “we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.” And the truth is, I kind of find that super-intense, comically angst-y 12-year-old good company. I like that even now, after decades and other relationships have reshaped how I understand love and romance, I can still remember a time when I was innocent and naïve enough to believe that I could find a type of personal truth in such a cheesy song.
I’ve found that most people have such a song—a song whose opening bars can transport them back to a specific moment in their lives. In fact, some of us have several. So in my creative nonfiction classes, I begin the semester with something I call The Music and Memory Exercise. First, I have them read Hope Edelman’s “Bruce Springsteen and the Story of Us” and Bob Cowser Jr.’s “By a Song.” We discuss the way Edelman describes the Springsteen-dominated “soundtrack” of her late adolescence, and how Cowser finds solace at a difficult time through the music that transports him back to a time of innocence and protection. Then, I tell my own story about young Bill Bradley, alone at the dance in the gym, and how old William Bradley loves a song he doesn’t really like because of the way it tethers him to that sad little boy.
And then, of course, I ask the students to write the story of their own song and the memories it evokes in a mini-essay of 3-5 pages. We usually read their essays out loud in class, a nice icebreaker for the beginning of the semester. In the eight years I’ve been teaching creative nonfiction writing, I have never had a student find this exercise difficult to complete. Even the concerned student who corners me at the end of the first day of class and admits in a panic, “There’s nothing interesting about me to write about” gets into this assignment. It’s an enjoyable way to inspire reflection, and it assures the student that we all have experiences and a point of view worth expressing in essay and memoir writing.
So, anybody else have an interesting—or, preferably, embarrassing—song that inspires such reflection? Leave a comment if you do, and I’ll tell you all about the “late 80s/early 90s rap and hip hop” playlist I have on my iPod (needless to say—yeah, I totally have Vanilla Ice’s song about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on there).
So funny–I love that image of your seventh grade self mixed with that song. Thanks for making me laugh.
For years, I was transfixed by a particular cover of Leonard Cohen’s song Hallellujah. So many musicians covered it, but there was one version from the mid 1990s that I loved. I’d somehow hear it when I needed to … after finding out that a high school friend had died in a car crash; on the rainiest of Mondays; when struggling with writer’s block. But I didn’t find out who the musician was until early 2010. His name was Jeff Buckley, and he covered Hallelujah on his only studio album, Grace. How I overlooked this album and musician for 20 years mystifies me. It saddened me to learn that he’d drowned in 1997, while preparing to record his second album. But his vocals and guitar make me slow down and take a second glance around: The leaves and grass look brighter and greener when I hear this song.
PS: I’ve also used lyrics as writing prompts for poetry …
I love this. I have been trying to get back into creative writing, and I am always intrigued by how one art form can spin into another.
Exercises like this are so hard for me to get started. Having had a pretty narrow music exposure as I was growing up (mostly hymns and classical), I feel like an alien when others mention their classic songs that “everybody” knows.
That being said, the song is “That I May Know Him” – a churchy children’s song. Picture: hotel in Omaha, snowed in, power outage, grand piano in lobby, this 12 year old girl knew one song – only one song – by memory. Over, and over, and over, and over. I think I owe an apology to the rest of the guests at that hotel.
I can, and do, recite all of “Ice Ice Baby” by Vanilla Ice to my writing students. It’s the only “poem” I can remember from heart, and I even do the intro high hat beat. If only I wore zubaz, too.
Thanks for the kind words about the exercise, everyone.
Mallory– Yes. I’ve always been this cool.
Nancy– I used to listen to John Cale’s version of “Hallelujah” a lot throughout the 90s. It was featured on the “I’m Your Fan” Cohen tribute album, which also included R.E.M. singing “First We Take Manhattan.”
Arts– Sounds like an essay waiting to be written!
Benjamin– I surprised my students last night with the revelation that Vanilla Ice wrote a song called “Ninja Rap.” They were also impressed by my demonstration of M.C. Hammer’s “2 Legit 2 Quit” hand gestures.
I love this idea and plan to use it as a new memoir prompt in my CNF class this term.
Your writing about your own favorite/awful song reminded me of these short essays on McSweeney’s: http://www.mcsweeneys.net/columns/short-essays-on-favorite-songs-inspired-by-nick-hornbys-songbook Your students may like checking them out.
I’ll always remember the day I was working as a barista when Oasis’s “Wonderwall” started playing on my iPod for the second time. When I skipped the song a few seconds in, everyone waiting for their Saturday morning coffee groaned in shared disappointment. I promised to put the song back on if everyone in the cafe sang along. And they did! And for three glorious minutes, I pulled shots of espresso, sang in my finest mock-British popstar accent, and pretended I was living in a movie.
Some songs–especially unexpected ones–really do have a strong tether to memory.
Thanks for mentioning Bob Cowser’s work and also Hope Edelman’s on Springsteen. Once when I wrote about the influence of Springsteen on my college years, Bob referred me to Hope’s essay, which I immediately fell in love with. As far as for cheesy songs, I have one. Bobby Sherman’s, “Julie, Julie, Julie, Do you Love Me?” Takes me right back to sixth grade, the 45 spinning on the small portable turntable, pictures from Tiger Beat plastered on my bedroom wall of Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy. When I heard the song on Sirius one afternoon driving home from work I realized the shallowness of the lyrics and was embarrassed that they and the voice and the music could evoke such a powerful trip down memory lane. Yet, it happened. Thanks for reminding us to not push away the moments or the memories, but to instead reflect and to embrace. If I ever get to teach a CNF class, I’ll definitely use your prompt. Thanks for sharing.
It was the summer of 1965. The summer after my graduation from high school, and before my entrance into nursing school. Joe was my first boyfriend, my best friend’s brother. And the song was Satisfaction, by the Stones. Every single time I hear it, no matter where or when, I am back in that old Chevy, sitting almost in the lap of my handsome crush, my heart pounding with love and expectation, as we cruise the hot streets of a Birmingham that still vibrated with civil unrest and uncertainty….
Thank you for this. Great prompt!
That was my favorite assignment from your class. Every semester, I share the music memory essay I wrote for you with my CRW students before they write their personal narratives. Thanks for inspiring me!
Snow’s “Informer.” It’s so ridiculous, so absurdly fun. Listening to it takes me back to my shabby dorm room. I can almost smell the hairspray…
I had a nine hour car ride today, which would normally be kinda boring, but for about three minutes, I got to hear “Ice, Ice Baby.” Which was dope.
Actually, at first, I thought, “All right! Queen and Bowie!” Then, I thought, “Awwww, no.” But by the time he started cookin’ MCs like a pound of bacon, I was won over.