Time Travel On The Radio

The year was 1985 on Saturday. 

One of the joys of being an ex-pat in these technological days is that many things I would otherwise miss, like radio programs, can be streamed into my kitchen via the internet. Often, I'm embarrassed to admit, I am childishly pleased when I fortuitously start the playback of the breakfast show, (which begins at 6.30am), at 6.30am and, even though it was aired five hours earlier (the time difference to the UK), I can pretend it's current. This is especially important if my mother has come to stay, as hearing the 8 o'clock news at 9.15 is something I physically cannot explain again. (Along with the wonders of e-mail.."But how can I check my email on your computer?" I am resigned to this, now, and smile, "You're right. You can't. Silly me.")

So imagine my delight when I tune into (well, play back via iplayer) the "Pick of the Pops" program, as is my Saturday morning ritual, and find the featured year is 1985!

I immediately insisted on complete silence and the seriousness of the situation was evidently apparent as, for once, a reverent hush descended. I was left to unload the dishwasher, make and clear away breakfast and then, frankly, invent things to do while I sashayed around the kitchen in wide-eyed surprise, chanting long-forgotten lyrics with a stupid, goofy grin across my face. The middle 'rap' bit to "Candy Girl"? Word for word! (Don't make me prove it...)

Why? Why am I still able to reproduce every word, ooh and ah of songs I didn't even like at the time (it was a gift, that record, honest) and yet lose track of the 'funds available' figure in the joint account by the time I get to the shop?  

I tried to explain to my daughter what was happening inside my suddenly-thirteen-turning-fourteen year old soul. (The songs were from this same week in 1985, and it was my birthday on Monday - Yes! I knew I'd be able to mention it somewhere!). Imagine, I said, that in thirty years, you turn the radio on, and Taylor Swift is playing. You will still know all the words! You know you will! (And I hope your children stare at you in disbelief and embarrassment as well). Music has this power, and you are NEVER FREE. You will run faster if songs like these, the songs you haven't heard in years, are played while you're out jogging! You will lose track of what someone is saying at a party because you are secretly straining to see if the song is what you think it is and wish you could ask them to hush! You will drive around the block because you want to do the guitar solo! (Daughter asked if we could go home the long way the other day, because she wanted to hear the solo on "Walk This Way". NEVER been so proud!) You will find yourself humming something, wonder how it got there, and spend a long time working back to locate it! (It'll be "Dock of the Bay, because you will just have got out of an elevator with the word "OTIS" at the back of it). You will find your kids singing bits of songs they have got from you (try and keep them appropriate) which you didn't know you ever even hummed in front of them! You will be physically unable to stop yourself from doing things when you hear a certain song (the little claps in "I don't like Mondays"), even if it's under the desk! There will be songs that you associate with people, songs that you associate with events and probably, weirdly, songs that people associate with you (don't ask about these- they might disturb you). 

There will be many, many, tracks that you will know so well that you will be able to tell a cover version from the original, however closely they stick to it, just because. Ah, if only it were a marketable skill.

Spouse has a theory that when the Alzheimer's hits (and the joint account incident has only made firmer his conviction that it will) I'll go straight back to 1984. I counter with the argument that there are worse places to go. And, if that happens, at least I'll be word perfect.