Memories are a funny business. Part time machine and part flashback, these little mental home movies can nimbly provide instant transportation to an altered, familiar feeling.
This might be a welcome return to better days or a visit to some unfortunate moment better left forgotten. Either way, the right catalyst can be like jet fuel to the hippocampus.
Smells are a powerful trigger, and I’ve certainly fallen victim to their wily manipulation. But for me, it’s always been sound. Music is immediate and often overwhelming. Sometimes even one note is enough to catapult me back.
So when a treasure trove of chemical-inducing nostalgia arrived in my podcast feed, it’s safe to say I was a little curious.
But after devoting nearly 200 listening hours to this endeavor, I’m clearly past the point of inquisitiveness.
Rob Harvilla is a storyteller of the highest order. Mixing fanboy sentimentalism with a depth of music knowledge that could put veteran Rolling Stone staff writers to shame, Harvilla finds the warm center inside his selections each week. The often circuitous route he takes to arrive at the podcast’s featured artist is probably the best part.
Weaving references from wholly unrelated genres, decades, or musical styles to find common ground with a familiar hit from our (my) teenage years is shockingly clever. He can spend a quarter of the pod deep-diving into banned or controversial songs during the hip-hop “Parental Advisory” CD sticker era and ultimately land on Rage Against the Machine, or start with a “Shaun of the Dead” reference and a discussion about vinyl collections before unveiling his pick of the week as The Verve. It’s incredible how effortlessly and seamlessly he’s able to bring disparate pieces together to paint a complete picture.
But the real magic is what happens when the clips start playing. Even in 10-second increments, I’m abruptly slingshotting between my formative years and the present day. There’s almost a little twinge of sadness every time the short section of the song stops playing because reality returns.
I am no stranger to the pastime of living in past times. My life was full and fun and wide open with hope and possibility. I spent my days in a perpetual state of bliss and enthusiasm for whatever adventure waited for me around the next turn. I knew what kind of asphalt and concrete made the road that stretched out before me and I walked it without worry, hesitation, projection, or dread. It was the polar opposite of how my legs move today.
So drifting back, even momentarily, to a time when the world felt like a never-ending row of wide-open doors and limitless green traffic lights isn’t the worst way to spend an afternoon.
Thanks, Rob.
Solitary Alignment 