Emotional Baseline

Since I haven’t had any new memories or confirmations in a while and I want to keep this blog alive until I can travel to France and get some closure, I’m probably going to be sharing a lot of my own thoughts and memories from my current life in a more candid way than I do on Facebook.

I’ve never mentioned this before, but when I say that a piece of music that may be from a past life feels familiar, there are a few songs from my present life that I think of when I need a frame of reference for feelings of familiarity.

One of them in particular is a song by the Spanish band Mecano called No Es Serio Este Cementerio (this cemetery is not serious) from 1986.  This is a song that I’ve probably been exposed to regularly since I was about 3 years old (about the earliest I can remember in my present life before the memories become sparser and less clear).  It’s a song from my era that I’ve heard frequently because not only was it on Spanish TV when I lived there as a toddler, but my father bought the CD and I’ve had an .mp3 of it for more than 12 years.

Then there’s one from later in my childhood, that came out around 1993.  “Will You Be There?” had all the ingredients of a favorite childhood song: it was Michael Jackson first of all (back when a new Michael Jackson video was an event that you gathered around the TV for).  It was the theme to a movie about a little boy and his orca friend.  It was even easy to play the main melodic riff, which made piano class fun when our teacher transcribed a simple version and handed it out to the class on roughly-xeroxed sheets.  This song takes me back to my old bedroom, the desk with the light-up globe and a nice red-bound set of Children’s Brittanicas.  Back when I was an avid reader of “Ranger Rick” and would go out in the back yard and catch toads under the dog house, only to stumble on the occasional snake.  But the snakes didn’t scare me; I was a kid in love with nature and brimming with intellectual curiousity.  It’s a happy, safe, comfortable place this song takes me to.  If any song can make me feel even a little like this, it stands out for me.

There’s one song here that predates my current lifetime, but its significance in my life is so profound that no other song in the world makes me feel quite the same way.  The song is “And You And I” by Yes.

A bit of background: I first heard this song as an incomplete cover version that my husband had shared on an online message board we both posted on and ultimately met each other through.  We bonded over that song.  The Yes album it’s on “Close to the Edge,” was one of only two albums I bought while in the UK (the other one was a copy of an opera by Janáček).  I had never really paid progressive rock all that much attention before, but “And You And I” was my gateway drug and my husband is the one who got me hooked.

This is why, even though it’s from Phil’s time, the date doesn’t run the risk of being a confounding factor because it’s so deeply associated with my current life.  As far as I can tell, Phil was never all that into prog, and neither was I until I met the man I eventually married.  This is our song.

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