So today, because of a teacher training session I had scheduled in the Ayala Alabang area, I found myself on the road for about three hours. It truly wasn’t a bad drive because on Wednesdays, 99.5 Play FM does Playback—a day-long run of music that was popular from 1995 to 2007.
(I haven’t listened to the radio since my tweens. But since a Rex Navarrete CD jammed my car’s music player, I’ve had to resort to listening to the local FM stations. And yes, I don’t carry a digital music player with me. And yes, if you pair this piece of information with the aforementioned facts that I listen to Playback AND I have a Rex Navarrete CD, you can safely conclude that I am not all that young.)
Anyway, what I realized during the drive was how much I missed having music in my life. In younger years, I literally spent hours on the couch or on my bed doing nothing but listening to albums from the 1950s onwards. Everything and everyone one was fair game, from The Platters and The Carpenters to Michael Jackson and Sarah McLachlan. I had no problems switching from ABBA to Enya, from the Dixie Chicks to Metallica, from Astrud Gilberto to Nirvana, from Bob Marley to the Apo Hiking Society. Musicals were a favorite too: I’d do all the voices from The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and Pocahontas (among many others) then switch to singles from any of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Broadway masterpieces.
Thinking back on it now, I actually don’t know how or when the music stopped being a vital part of my life. Along with it went a certain kind of creativity and ingenuity. For some bizarre reason that my writer friends can probably elaborate, I could never write fiction in the absence of music. (I solved accounting and calculus problems better with Richard Clayderman or Vanessa Mae on in the background too.)
So now that the absence is present, there’s just one thing left to do—to painstakingly reconstruct my music library one song, one album and one artist at a time.
It’ll take a while, but I think it’s going to be fun.