musical moments

I've been having a bit of a "blast from the past" when it comes to music lately.

I remember being 15, 16, 17... and music meant everything to me. I was a bit of a dork, a punk, when it came to music some five years ago. My CDs were the only thing that could understand me. Lyrics were letters written to me, melodies were meant to be belted out while driving in my car until my throat was raw. I believed in God, soul mates and most of all, music.

And these memories are coming back lately. Maybe it's my new lack of piano that's forcing them to the surface, or maybe it's the fact that three days a week I am next to that same instrument, only this time it's teaching little ones about the rhythms that my heart once pounded to and the notes that brought me to tears. But it's music, once again, that's coming out in waves, that's making me remember.

It all comes back when I listen to My Favorite Highway, of all bands. No other band, not even Matt Nathanson, can drudge up such emotions and memories and god - it was so long ago. They're so distant now, I don't even know what they're doing or how they sound. I mock them (not that we didn't before), but it's halfhearted, really.

But the memories aren't. I don't have to close my eyes to remember coming out of a J&R rehearsal and hearing them playing Harbor Bay, sitting there outside, listening to that song wrap itself around me. I remember being invited with Pez into that rehearsal, watching them and hearing what no one else ever would. I will never forget that one time, at the Sterling Community Center, the time Dave Cook sang it so quietly, "I have toyed with the idea of burning your stuff," the only time it ever had any meaning, and now I can't hear that song without looping over the only way I will ever know it.

But the days of MFH are long gone. And though I still love music, am involved in it almost more than ever, it's not the same. I tried playing my old songs today, and I could barely remember the words, let alone the chords. I don't believe much anymore in anything other than myself, the man I can hold and the fact that tomorrow will never stop.

The music keeps coming back though. My Favorite Highway's existence is -as much as I hate to admit it- only one very personal reminder of how music once touched me, once moved my very soul.

It's hard to even imagine going back to those days, let alone that kind of faith.

But one day, maybe I'll believe again.