Echoes of the Past: How Music Rekindles Forgotten Memories
Thanks to the generosity of friends, my husband and I went to see the band America perform at the Dr. Phillips Performing Arts Center in Orlando. I’m such an NPR-o-phile that I rarely listen to tunes in the car and I forget how evocative music can be. Marcel Proust’s tastebuds transported him on a journey through his memory back to his youth after biting into a madeleine. My ear served as my sensory guide as America’s music prompted flashbacks to the 1970s when I was newly graduated from high school.
I remember driving my yellow VW bug, my windows open to the summer air (because the car’s lawn mower-sized engine could not support air conditioning) and listening to “A Horse with No Name” on the radio. I was wearing a coverup over my bikini since I had just spent the last couple of hours swimming with a friend at our recreation center.
My hair looked sun-kissed from the repeated applications of Sun-In Hair Lightener, and I was manipulating the clutch, break, and accelerator with bare feet. That was Florida living as a teen and hearing that song played fifty-five years later carried me back to that seemingly carefree time.
I've been through the desert
On a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert, you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
Escaping to a place where no one could give you any pain. The line probably sounded appealing to someone lost in the angst of teenage worries. I hung out with the Freaks as they were dubbed in the 1970s. The girls and guys wore their hair long and waged protests in front of C Building where the administration was housed at my high school. A persistent protest theme was the right for students to wear what they chose rather than adhere to the strict protocols decreed by administrators. Girls were required to wear dresses my entire secondary school tenure until my senior year. It was freeing to be able to wear blue jeans and shirts decorated with peace symbols and anti-war slogans. We were in love with the likes of Joni Mitchell, Carol King, and James Taylor. One my best friends was called Cloud, probably a reference to his voluminous afro. I think we bonded over our outsider status and the similarity of our names: Mine was Linda Lang; his given name was Lee Langdon. When he showed up at my front door one night my mother confessed later that she had fretted about how to tell my father I was dating a black man.
These memories, untouched for so many years washed over me as I listened to the band’s signature harmony as they sang familiar favorites like “Ventura Highway, “Lonely People”, and “I Need You”. The memories were surprisingly pleasant. Despite residing in Orlando, I have never once attended a class reunion hosted by my Orlando high school. I crossed some geographic divide in my city and rarely, if ever, looked back. Maybe I should listen to music rather than NPR in my car, at least on occasion. You never know what kind of revelations music might evoke.