The Nostalgia Box

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?