First, Last and Analog

In the earlier 80s I once borrowed my friend Ron’s Walkman and his fairly poor home taping of Aerosmith’s Toys in the Attic, and was completely blown away. Not by the album so much - but by the incredible stereo sound of cranked up headphones exploding in my brain. Lead guitar in the left ear, rhythm in the right, drums pounding in both – the singer was right… inside… my head…

I can still remember walking home from school that day, jamming, smiling - a new door had opened.

Not so mind blowing now – everyone owns an IPod, but I don’t think I had ever really listened to music on headphones before then.

Since then I have always had a “Walkman”, from: many years of high-quality vinyl-to-cassette tapings via Bill and Randy Maas’ high-end gear, though CD Discman units in the 90’s, to MP3 players and IPods today. I’m pretty sure that’s the actual model of walkman I first had – the WM4 (from 1982) - I can almost feel the knurled buttons moving under my fingers...
Sometimes I hear songs that make me think of specific places, not in general, but specifically; viewed from a certain angle – always the same - almost like a déjà-vu. When I hear the song, or the riff, or the lyric, I picture a place, usually outside, often a building or a street – frequently from many years ago. Sometimes I feel like I can remember a little bit of what I was thinking about then... I suppose we all do to some degree.

The other day I flashed-back to walking around in the later 80s (with the cassette walkman – somehow the tape warble, hiss and pulley-squeek a vivid part of the memory) thinking: “oh, here’s this cool album again, I wish I knew who it was…” It was different than other stuff I listened to, it was driving and catchy, but stark and minimal. It was anguished, and dark but direct and purposeful. Most of the music I listened to then had huge guitars; this had a jagged synthesizer and guitar wash; fluid and continuous over the driving drums and bass which powered the songs - periodically dropping entirely, leaving the pulsing song-skeleton surging along. And deep, clear, vocals.

I discovered at some point later that it was the Sisters of Mercy - a collection of singles actually; Alice, Floorshow, and others… Still a favorite band today.

I remember that the music felt so personal, like no one else could really understand the emotion and the meaning. The dark imagery, the abstract lyrics, the pounding rhythms, the hypnotic bass. I’m walking around in the world with the other people, but I’m in a different place; separate and isolated from their poisonous thoughts by my curtain of sound.