This is my iPod. It’s not a fancy new one. It doesn’t even
have a touch-screen. Time after time, though, I’ve rejected the disdainful
suggestions to upgrade. Why? It’s difficult to explain. I’ll do my best though.
On my iPod is a collection of music. Music I’ve collected from
2004 to around 2011. In total there are 1459 songs, using 7.3GB of space. A
tiny fraction, given today’s available options.
A few years ago I stored the entirety of my music library on an external hard drive. Somewhat predictably, the hard drive malfunctioned. It’s now lost. The only place this particular collection of music exists is on the little grey soldier pictured above.
Using the shuffle option reveals an eclectic mix. The haunting
tones of Eva Cassidy’s Songbird give way to the raucous guitar of Rory
Gallagher ripping his way through his Bullfrog Blues. The cultured protests
of Bob Dylan’s Hurricane are preceded
by Rik Mayall and his Young Ones butchering Cliff Richard’s Living Doll. A glance through the
artists’ library sees the respected Beatles, Jimi Hendrix and Johnny Cash
resting comfortably alongside such regal company as Boyzone, Craig David and
Katy Perry.
But the content doesn’t tell the true story. The true worth of
mine, and anyone’s music collection lies in the feelings they provoke.
2004 to 2011 brought me through the ages of 17 to 24, a hugely
important period in anyone’s life. At the time we called it ‘growing up’. In
hindsight, we probably didn’t. As another of the songs puts it, we had still got growing up to do. For me, the music
on my iPod has the ability to transport me back, to relive the moments, both
innocuous and significant, as I meandered from adolescence to adulthood.
It’s the inimitable feeling of teenage friendship. Of early
summer procrastination on a distant school football pitch. The drama of teenage
relationships and exam preparation that loomed large at the time but now serves
only as a footnote. The joy of success as it danced with the affirmation of
friendship. The sorrow of funerals that remembered lives lost well before their
time. The realisation that what you’d come to know was ending, the pangs of
sadness mixing uncomfortably with the excitement of the next step.
It’s launching out into the deep with your friends at your
side. Searching for that first place away from home, unsure of your
surroundings but excited to render them familiar. The tentative first steps
into somewhere new, discovering new things, new experiences, new friends. Drunken
arguments that briefly threaten your closest friendships. The late-night
conversations left bereft in the cold light of day as the curtains are opened.
It’s watching your siblings growing up. Watching their talents
spring to fruition in front of your eyes. Smiling as they follow the path in
their own unique way. It’s how the slightest mention of a shared memory between
siblings can bring reminiscence so vividly to life.
It’s warm summer nights in Donegal, sipping cider and staring
at the silent beauty of a moonlit lake. The 5am walk home from the party, where
the sun begins to rise, dawn begins to break and anything seems possible.
Sitting in the house in the depths of winter, wrapped in anything you can put
your hands on, not a penny in the gas meter but warmth in the conversation and laughter.
It’s summer jobs grudgingly fulfilled and gleefully discarded in the delirious
rush of maturing youth.
It’s falling in love. The excitement of meeting someone who speaks
directly to you. The nervous excitement that drives you forward, that makes you
want to spend time with that person. The sheer joy when the feeling is
reciprocal and you can begin to plan a life together.
Then, all of a sudden, the mix of sadness and excitement returns.
Graduation. The real world is looming and no amount of sitting on the Big Fish
with a carry-out staring out at the sun rising on the Lagan will change that. Priorities
change. Some drift away, others drift closer, but the music remains, metronomic.
2004 to 2011 was a shared table of emotion. There was joy,
despair, fear, excitement and the rush of a life kicking into gear. Central to
it all was friendship, love and people.
When I listen to the music on this old iPod, thoughts of
exams, qualifications and jobs could not be further from my mind. The people,
the moments and feelings that this collection conjures for me are the reason
I’ll never update this iPod.
Some people self-consciously ask themselves; ‘What does my
music collection say about me?’
Have a listen and ask yourself the more important question:
What does my music collection say to me?
