The Spirit of Radio

Music was my first love and will always remain so. It’s in my blood (a cliche I know), a sort of “track record” for all the milestones and emotions in my life.

I know I am not the only one in that department. Music is in the DNA of all humans, no matter their age, race or religion. We are all united by it in some form and it is able to transcend us into different worlds and memories. I think this makes the experience of music more powerful for TCKs. 

A TCK playlist will always be a small wonder worth appreciating.

It is a wonderful contradiction of genres, organized together in a timeline which can be anything from chronological to nostalgia-based—an undiscriminating, proliferating repertoire of songs that have had an impact on our lives. Each song transports us into a different memory, place or time, and can even conjure up a person of our past or present. They allow us to escape into a colorfully textured sonic adventure that defies the boundaries of geography or time. During this whole pandemic ordeal, I have had the opportunity to dust off the oldies in my mental record player and reconnect with the artists who were present in my life as much as friends and family—songs that mentored me, guided me, and taught me the beauty of imagination, creativity and the human condition. 

“Lágrimas e Chuva” by Kid Abelha takes me back to a warm and smokey Brazilian night in the backseat of a 2004 Citroen when my dad carried me from the car into my room because I had fallen asleep after a long drive. (You know your childhood is over when your parents can't carry you from the car to your room anymore.) 

“Be Near Me” by ABC will always be a saturated pink and orange sunset in Michigan, seen for the same time as a wide-eyed 6th grader breathing in the misty air of the lakes without a single worry in the world. 

“Time Stand Still” by Rush takes me back to studying every detail of playing the drums. I would listen to it over and over, walking down the green-floored high school halls, trying to mimic every nuance of the drum part in that song. It makes me think back to the last time I would see that grand vivid sunset in Michigan, saying goodbye to all my friends as I would leave the next day on a flight headed for Germany. It again played in my head as I got into a rental car on an incredibly hot summer last year in Seville, Spain when I waved goodbye behind a car door window to my grandma in her apron and her big sunglasses, not knowing it would be the last time I would ever see her before she passed away. The lyric, “Children growing up, old friends growing older” never resonated as strongly as it does now. 

Music truly is a documentation of our experiences. As the late, great Neil Peart put it, it is “the growth rings of a tree to our lives”. 

I honestly recommend that everyone, especially right now, listen to all of the songs you have liked or loved. Even if you cringe at some of them, do it.

They are a part of your history. A universal language that unites us all in a way words can't always communicate. Follow the spirit of radio and turn the volume up so the sonic adventures never end.

In memory of my grandma Rosario and my eternal drum idol Neil Peart. Thank you for having existed in my life.