There’s a magic quality about music, that it possesses the ability to carry one to another time or place or state of mind, completely and without warning. It reminds me of the connection between the sense of smell and memory, only perhaps more powerful for some.
I sat today bemoaning (quietly, of course, because this sort of thought gets you branded as a heretic in the southeastern US) the imminent arrival of spring, the eventual farewell to the cool temperatures that I spend 60% of my year craving and dreaming about. It was a gorgeous day — the occasional lazy, fluffy white cloud punctuated the bright blue March sky, a light breeze breaking up the monotonous air here and there — but already it’s too hot for me. And immediately I was missing the winter that we never really got (I think I wore my “heavy” coat for a total of ten days this season), and readying myself for the next one, like a cubicle ant on Monday morning praying for the weekend.
It must have been this line of thinking that pushed me to line up Opeth’s BLACKWATER PARK into my iTunes. It’s a disc that I haven’t listened to in a few years (although their last album, WATERSHED, has an inordinate amount of playtime, according to my iPod), and I’m wondering why. The entire album — both the quiet, acoustic sections and the heavier epic-sounding riffs — is permeated with autumn, or perhaps winter, evoking visions of snow and barren plains, misty breath, coats and that stillness that comes only in the depth of January. It’s evident on their albums since, but none moreso than BLACKWATER PARK.
And I wonder how much of that is a memory association of my own, based on my listening patterns; how much is my knowledge of Opeth (i.e., their Swedish origins); and how much is based in the music itself. There is some music that I will forever associate with winter, some with summer and the beach, some with autumn; some day, some night. And I’m certain that there’s some level of my own personality or experience in there, but I’m also convinced that some of that quality resides in the music itself.
On some level, too, I’m not concerned with the why, because for now and for the next six months, I can count on Opeth and others to help get me through the god-awful oppressive summer heat.