Nope. Nope. Not that one. Ehh… Definitely not that one. Nope…
A hazy quiet fell upon the kitchen table as I scrolled through my Spotify Liked Songs to queue some mood music for family game night. My little brother slouched next to me with his head on the table, and my mom sat across from me, absentmindedly shuffling the Uno deck. The cards’ rhythmic swishing filled the silence as I swiped endlessly through my catalog of songs. Hundreds of options, and yet somehow, none.
“Any song recs, Mom?”
It was a half-hearted attempt. A little pointless even. All I’d ever heard my mom listen to was Christian worship songs and classical music—great in their own rights, but not quite fitting for game night. Still, I’d been slowly tiring of my recent rotations of Raveena, Hovvdy, and Charli xcx. The speaker sat in wait. My mom’s eyes drifted to the ceiling in thought, her shuffling continuing, trancelike.
I tried again: “What did you listen to when you were my age?”
The question seemed unremarkable. Yet the shuffling stopped abruptly, and the room froze from the break in rhythm. Then, a smile burst across her face, and she hit her head lightly, as if trying to knock loose some old memory until… eureka.
“Get Wild by TM Network!”
The song’s album cover featured a trio of Japanese men with great swoops of styled hair. Very J-idol. And also, very unlike my mom. With my deck in hand, I pressed play. A subdued but instantly catchy melody crept out from the speaker. Then the song burst into dazzling showers of ’80s synths, accompanied by punches of electric guitar and an energetic male voice singing to “get wild and tough!” Our focus had completely drifted from the game as my mom kept breaking out into fits of laughter and singing along to the lyrics.
“Mom, it’s your turn,” my brother and I would repeat, but our groans were drowned out by the sheer joy from across the table. As the final chorus faded out, my mom looked up at us, eyes gleaming from behind her fan of cards.
“Can we listen to another one?”
After that, game night was all but forgotten. We were on a one-way trip down music memory lane. My mom shared with us the soaring rockstar melodies and chorus of “Barefoot Goddess” by B’z, the sweet lilts and nostalgic production of “Slow-Motion” by Akina Nakamori, and the inimitable soul and emotion of “Stars on Earth” by Miyuki Nakajima. And with each new song came a scene born from reminiscence, all coming together to form a visual album of her life.
“Like this?” I laughed and pointed at the crowds of girls cheering for a shirtless band member on my phone screen. She nodded with her head in her hands and giggled uncontrollably. She regaled us with teenage memories of one-woman dance performances in her room to the pumping tunes of J-rock bands and the many tears shed for ballads of life’s cruelty towards love.
After about an hour of storytelling, I asked my mom for more recommendations and compiled them into a playlist. Today, it’s populated with even more stars, like “Plastic Love” singer Mariya Takeuchi, pop rock duo Puffy AmiYumi, and city pop artist Taeko Onuki. Call it nostalgia or unlocking a memory, but during that game-night-turned-listening-party, my mom seemed to glow with a quality I hadn’t seen before. Turns out, she hadn’t listened to any of these songs since before she met my dad.
I believe the revelation, when you are suddenly aware that your parents had a bustling life before you, will inevitably hit everyone one day like a wave in the ocean: you see it and know that it is there, but sometimes, it still knocks you off your feet. To spend an hour learning something about my mom that was so different from the idea I had of her in my head was exciting, but it also left me with questions. If these songs were so dear to her heart and her memories, why was this the first time she’d listened to them in decades? When I asked her, she paused.
“I don’t need to listen to them anymore,” she eventually replied.
I’d never heard someone mention needing a song. Don’t we listen to songs because we want to? Because we enjoy their melody, lyricism, or message? But not all songs are like that. Sometimes, songs only serve a brief purpose in our lives, whether that’s a time of heartbreak, self-discovery, low confidence, or even just wanting a good cry. Regardless of her love for these songs, my mom no longer needs to be likened to a barefoot goddess, to be told not to hide her scars, or to be moved to tears mourning the unsung heroes of the world. The person she is today has what she needs, but I’m grateful to have gotten to know the ways music provided for the person she used to be.
After this, I felt inspired to ask my dad about his own favorite songs. We sat together one night in the living room as he dug up songs from his memory and I queued them. He’s more of a CD and cassette type of guy, and as each song transitioned to the next, he would muse, “Man, technology today, I’m tellin’ you.”
In the dimly lit room, we bopped to the funk and shimmer of Cameo’s “Candy,” grooved to the claps and saxy slides of Evelyn “Champagne” King’s “Shame,” and heeded the hard truths and solemn flows of 2Pac’s “Changes.” The visual album my father put together surely had its fun times, but more than my mother’s, it was edged with struggles and a reliance on music to keep going. The high disco energy of “Shame” was sobered by memories of needing the song to get himself up each frigid morning of college, a thousand miles away from family. Earth, Wind & Fire, popular for their uptempo songs, was a source of support in the darkness of his ’20s with the soulful, steady beat of “Keep Your Head to the Sky.” The next morning, I woke up to over 100 texts from him with links to even more of his favorites. That’s my dad: I asked for songs, and he gave me songs.
In the last few years, I’ve become more appreciative of his stories and lessons. There’s almost a half-century between me and him—49 years to be exact. Whenever we have long chats, I feel and cherish the love that comes with those 49 years of life between us. But at the same time, I feel the unavoidable dread that, sooner rather than later, the day will come when that number of years between us will start to decrease. Before I drove up to Providence this fall, my dad gave me a crash course of everything I needed to know about the car. I was admittedly not very excited for the auto lesson, but he told me to listen carefully so that I could teach my own kids one day.
“That’s okay, Dad, I can just have you teach them.”
I tried to say it with a smile but could tell by his weak laugh that no amount of sugarcoating could hide the bitter possibility that had entered our minds—that he might not make it to that day.
“Still, it’s important for you to know.” He smiled back.
Music is timeless, and our access to it and its stories is greater than ever. I’ve fallen in love with so many songs and artists that my parents loved. Because of that, I feel like I’ve gotten to know them from that time of their lives too. The comic-drawing, rock band fangirl from Tokyo who was always busting moves in her room, and the young record-breaking athlete and multi-state champion wrestler who I shared more struggles with than I realized. Two individuals, from opposite sides of the planet and different backgrounds, who somehow crossed paths underneath this wide blue sky. One of my favorite songs from my parents, “Ito” by Miyuki Nakajima, tells the story of how two people, one a vertical thread and the other horizontal, can together weave a cloth that may someday keep someone warm or cover a wound to heal. Every song comes to an end, but I’ll have these songs, passed down from my parents, to comfort and remind me of them no matter how far apart we are. What songs will I pass down to my loved ones? When you listen back to your own life, what scenes will come together and with what soundtrack? One of the beautiful powers of songs is the way they are linked to memory. They’ll remind you of more than who you are right now. They’ll remind you of everything you’ve ever been.
