“Who’s your favorite band?”
Does this question irk you as much as it does me? Much like taste buds my taste in music is in a constant flux, evolving as I do as a human being. What I predominantly listened to years ago is not what I predominantly listen to today. I still remember the years of my teenage angst in which I listened to bands such as Slipknot, getting out some sort of internal aggression towards the world and everybody that I cannot properly explain. I don’t have that hormonal change I once had when I was a teenager, so much of the music I held in high esteem back then is not music that I listen to anymore.
Not only this, but I find that my musical taste tends to be seasonal, i.e. the season and weather play a role in what I listen to. For example, during the winter I find my musical taste craving classical music more so than during the summer. There’s no explanation as to why I listen to certain types of music at certain points of the year or certain points of my life. It just happens, and so the only way to fill that void is to have the music at hand. But something happens when the urge is fulfilled by an album, or artist, that I haven’t listened to in a long time.
When I pull out an album that I haven’t heard in a while (a while being months, sometimes years) I not only get a sense of nostalgia, but I also remember the time in my life when that album was pertinent, amplified by the music with which made these thoughts of the past possible. I describe this type of memory as a phonographic memory; a memory that is brought about by music.
In The Green Mile , Paul Edgecomb (Tom Hanks’ character) hears this song on the television (“Cheek to Cheek” performed by Fred Astaire). He starts to cry and runs out of the room because of the memories flooding in as a result of the song, a sort of catharsis for which “Cheek to Cheek” was the key. It was solely this song that brought him back to an earlier time of his life, a time that remained etched in his memory many years later. This is a definitive example of what can, and should, be dubbed as a phonographic memory.
Going back to favorite bands, I still remember when my favorite band was Tool, or when it was Metallica, or when my favorite album was Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band, or when it was Coltrane’s My Favorite Things . All four of those don’t hold my “favorite” position anymore, but they did at one point. And it’s not to say that a band such as Tool is not one of my favorite bands, just that they’re no longer my favorite, and that’s what happens when one’s horizons are broadened.
Philip Glass once said that people’s ears adapt quickly to new types of music, to new sound and different ways of hearing music. I agree, and I feel that with that adaptation comes yearning for more music, pushing music once listened to before aside; sometimes for a while, sometimes forever. It’s not until we come full circle that we discover something new in something old, which could potentially ruin an album or an artist for the listener. But it may also further one’s appreciation for that particular album or artist.
In short I’m sure it’s safe to say that a “favorite” in music isn’t forever, especially if the listener continues to broaden their horizon, trekking through album after album to discover self-undiscovered music. Our perception may change, but the song remains the same.