Streamed Consciousness
If I were to make a rough estimate, I would say I have listened to this song quite literally over 1,000 times and, although it may sound cliche, each time I find something new. The song is by George Winston and it is from his album Summer. It is called “Where Are You Now.” It randomly (literally randomly, as that’s what the player was set to) began playing just now and I felt an urgent need to write. Just now, in this past listening, I heard something in the song; it is saying ‘where are you now,’ the very rise and fall of the melodic line beautifully articulates that idea better than any lyrics could. And the title, the title is not a question, it’s a statement. A question indicates a limited scope of thought; the person is searching for a specific answer and a solution. But a question without the question mark is indicative of much more. It’s the question combined with the gentle sigh, the gaze off into the distance, and the memories gently wafting past the window of consciousness; all these rolled into a title.
Where Are You Now.
I’ve listened to this song on some of my happiest days, my lowest days, some of the warmest most beautiful days of the year and some of the most bitter cold nights of the deep winter. I’ve listened to it on tape, through an old boombox, out of an expensive hi-fi system, and through headphones. I’ve learned to play it, forgotten, and learned again. I’ve listened to it in terms of melody, its placement in the album, in terms of emotion, and in terms of the atmosphere and scenery it evokes. You have to understand, this song is a part of me. I am sure you have the same song, too. The one that brings up that emotion or that memory. Now imagine that song bringing up instead a raft of experiences and seasons and times of your life. It’s quite a bit like looking at your oldest pair of tennis shoes and recalling what you have been through with them.
Where Are You Now.
If there was a soundtrack to my life, this would be the last track, the impression that you were left with when the disc stoped spinning and slowly turned to rest. It would be the final statement, the one that summarized everything before but made its own lasting impression as well. It would be the closing theme, the exit music, the tune when the credits were rolling. I’m writing because I want you to understand, feel, what this is like. What what’s like? Although I leave that ambiguity to your own fertile imaginations, remember not to put me in a box of misconceptions, misinformation, and narrow perception.
People will always surprise you.