Debate, and discuss, just dont Bore me.
Published on May 13, 2007 By Dr Guy In Blogging

Big Fat Daddy got me thinking.  On a blog of little note, he said:

some days an open road and any hard drivin' ZZ Top tune and we'll be doing 90 before you know it.

And that is so true.  Music is not about the group of the day, or year, or whatever.  It is about the situation.  And the timing.

I was talking about one song, yet he reminded me that there are a lot of songs.  Each one reminds us of a different memory.  Sure smell may be the most intense memory jogger.  But the truth is songs do more. (who wants to smell things all the time?).

Our first love, our first kiss, our first.....

Well you know.  Often we hear from the media about "our song".  And I guess that is right.  WHen we find the one we will grow old with, we remember "our song".  And that is fine and well.

But it is not the "only" song.  The others, perhaps not as poignant, are just as equally memory joggers.

Of memories we cherish and want to hold dear.

Music is memories.  That is what makes it so special.


Comments (Page 2)
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on May 19, 2007
Thought of you today, Doc...Unchained Melody on XM...I really listened to the words this time. Beautiful song. I guess it is natural that as we age we cling to things that connect us to our past...give us relevance. I have been accused of having a one track mind where nostalgia is concerned. I always answer that I have an eight track mind but they don't make the tapes any more. I know that the high schoolers in the neighborhood don't "get it" when they see the old geezer in the brilliant blue 68 GTO blasting down the road with the tunes drifting out the window (no bass overloads shaking every window in the house...just an appropriate level for the occasion)...Clapton crooning about 57 chevys and screaming guitars. But that is when I smile broadest...and thank you for the opportunity to express it some.
on May 19, 2007

and thank you for the opportunity to express it some.

I am glad you did. I enjoy your reminiscings.

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