This
morning we were discussing comfort food, when a thought suddenly occurred to
me: what classifies something as ‘comforting’? Where does one draw the line
between liking a certain type of food, and just liking it for its comfort
value? I have a striking memory from early childhood of always having a Marmite
sandwich when I read a certain book, later it progressed to always eating
instant pudding during Survivor. It wasn’t that I particularly liked instant
pudding (in fact, it’s really pretty gross), but it was just what I did, so I
continued to do it. I took comfort in the routine of always having that pudding
at that time. If there was no pudding on a Survivor night, I’d know there was
something hugely wrong – either we were bankrupt or I was dying. Good thing
neither of those things ever happened, but I digress. The point is that I
associated the pudding with a routine, and routines make me happy.
All
of this got me thinking, can the same thing happen with music? Do we like
certain songs and certain bands because they remind us of something, or because
we have some kind of association with them, rather than because they’re any
good? Maybe none of us have any taste in music at all, and what we like and
dislike is almost entirely a psychological reaction to our memories and
associations. It’s not as outrageous as it sounds…
Let’s
take Westlife, for example. Why the hell do I like those four little Irish lads
so much?! I mean, I almost shed an actual tear when they broke up, but they’re
so not my scene! Now, most of you will nod your heads understandingly, “Yes,
well, I loved the Spice Girls when I was ten, but then I realized the error of
my ways, and now I’m into Skrillex.” Fair point, but I never did realize the
error of my ways: I still melt at the first few beats of ‘My Love’, and dance
my face off to ‘When You’re Looking Like That.” But when I examine my general
reaction to any mention of Westlife, I start to figure it out. “Ah, I LOVE
Westlife, they’re like my entire childhood!” AHA! That’s about the closest I’ll
ever get to being sentimental. Westlife represent my childhood, and the thought
of my childhood comforts me.
Another
seminal example is the Bee Gees and Celine Dion’s ‘Immortality’. I don’t even
like Celine Dion, yet I adore this song. Why? No, it’s not because it’s a
great piece of music, it’s because it
reminds me of Saturday afternoons spent at my grandparents house listening to music and existing in pure bliss. In fact,
with the exception – of course – of newly discovered music, most of my
favourite songs are only classified as such because they hold some kind of
memory for me.
Now
let’s take my theory a step further. If someone asked me what my favourite
Coldplay album was, I would – without hesitation – say that it was Viva La
Vida. But rephrase the question slightly and ask what I thought was Coldplay’s best album, and I’d answer just as
easily: A Rush of Blood To The Head. Why, then, is my favourite album one that
I admit is not their best? It’s because of the memories. Viva La Vida was the
album that made me fall in love with Coldplay, and for that it will always be
cemented as my very favourite. Let’s do the same with The Killers. My favourite
album is Battle Born, but their best is unquestionably Sam’s Town. This is
simply because their two concerts I attended in the UK were the beginning of
the Battle Born tour.
Now
we can talk a bit more about musical associations. How is it that a song
triggers certain physical reactions in a person? I used to be quite partial to
Gwen Stefani’s ‘The Sweet Escape’, until it was drilled into my head and I was
forced to sing it on a balcony at 5am with a bunch of strangers in my first
week at university. Now just hearing the tune makes my heartrate increase, I
start to feel panicked and slightly ill. Just thinking about is now it making
my palms sweat! I experienced the same kind of thing after my trip to England:
I tried to listen to the Foo Fighters album on the plane back, but I was almost in tears remembering the
concert just two days before, and I had to turn it off. I also couldn’t listen
to The Shins for several weeks after returning, for every time I did, I felt
like I was being physically stabbed. It was downright weird. As soon as I
decided to return to England this year, I could go back to my festival playlist
with no problems. How strange. I also shy away from The Killers’ bassist Mark
Stoermer’s solo album, as hearing any of the songs makes me feel physically
sick after listening to it on repeat during my very depressing final week at university
back in 2011.
Perhaps
I have unwittingly discovered why I hate dance music so much! Maybe it’s got
nothing to do with the fact that songs with lyrics such as “oh hey baby, let’s
get on the dancefloor and dance with our clothes off baby, baby, baby, dance,
baby” are so brainless that they make me want to pull my hair out! Maybe it’s
that I don’t have much love for the drunken party culture in general. Could that be
why club music gets on my nerves so much?
So
what does all this mean? Does it mean that I can completely disregard all my
rules about what makes good music good? Well, no, perhaps not, but it is an
interesting thing to think about. Perhaps Rebecca Black’s ‘Friday’ would go
down in history as the best song ever written, if we just associated it with
the things that make us happiest in the world…
