patina

Iím listening to this mix cd that I made during the last summer I spent in England, when I was rocking the whole kept woman thing to my eternal boredom and increasingly short temper. Itís a bloody great disc here. Really. A marvelous mix of soul, electronica, bubblegum pop and funk. Somehow, I doubt that anyone will love it quite so much as I, but thatís not the point of this entry.

The point of this entry is that due to the time at which the disc was concocted, itís got a serious dose of the indelible patina of that time. I remember rocking out in the kitchen to ëstop the rockí while I chopped onions. I remember putting on my makeup to ëcíest la vie.í I remember learning about Apollo 440 and lying in bed with the Englishman listening to their album, or the cocteau twins.

I know Iíve spoken before about how I associate certain songs or musicians with certain timesÖand this disc is a whole bowlful of nostalgia.

And I wish that I were looking back on the times fondly. I really do. But Iím not. I suppose thatís a testament to how much Iíve grown up in the last year. I caní imagine, canít even fathom now doing the things I did then. I donít even recognize the girl in those pictures. And that makes me sad. I canít remember what it felt like to love the Englishman, I canít remember when I couldnít relate to my peer group, when I would rather decamp to another city to be with himthan spend the evening with my friends. I canít remember not knowing about the penguin cafÈ orchestra, heaven or las Vegas, orbital, my wife and my dead wifeÖand as such itís almost painful to listen to them. I look back at that year and realize that Iíve not so much as outgrown the girl I once was, but lost her.

And thus, itís strange to be listening to this disc.

Because certain memories from that year become too poignant through the mist of memory, and because that year was virtually defined by its soundtrack. That year was macy gray, otherside by the red hot chili peppers, meshell ndegeíocelloís bitter, Madonna and coldplay, craig david and radio one all saintsbabylondigitallovedaftpunkpjharveybjorkÖthey are the harbingers of my past, of the most influential year of my lifeÖand sometimes Iím not sure I can listen to them. Does this mean that I donít want to acknowledge my past?

Or just that I donít ever want to remember the dance that the Englishman would do in the mornings before putting on his bikini briefs?