Natasha Heinz
A friend recently came to visit me for two weeks around spring break. Before Luiza arrived, we planned a trip that included a weekend in New York, a few days in Kent and a way too long drive to Florida in search of warm weather and sun. Almost nothing about the plan bothered me. We'd spend most of 14 days just the two of us, with nowhere (and no one) to run to after arguments, but we had traveled around Germany together in 2012 and we were still friends. I couldn’t get one thing out of my head, though: What would we listen to during the trip?
You see, Luiza and I bonded over music when we first met. At 13, we had a shared love for Avril Lavigne, a bunch of emo bands I’ll make sure to mention throughout this article and the Strokes. As the years went by, I didn’t know what had become of her taste in music—mostly because she’d listen to songs in such a low volume, it was hard to know what had been playing. As for me, I kept liking to the same things I did in high school, something she made sure to point out during out on that 2012 trip.
At the time, her comment bothered me. Of course I didn’t listen to the exact same things! I even got into pop music for a while! (Mostly One Direction, but well...). And cool stuff also: I’ll have you know, I’m super into Arcade Fire and Vampire Weekend! It’s not just pop punk anymore. I wasn't sure if these slight changes would be enough for us to actually enjoy similar songs. We didn't share headphones then, and I was sure we wouldn't in 2018.
However, at the time, I was also worried about liking the right music—you know, the kind music critics approve—, something that doesn’t bother me anymore. If my friend had said I listen to the same artists I did at 14, I’d agree. It’s not that I’m not open to new music, I just love singing along to lyrics I already know. Like when my favorite song ("Like We Did (Windows Down)") from my favorite band (The Maine) comes up and I smile thinking about every time I've seen them live.
This doesn’t make me special, or nostalgic, or incapable of growing up. In the article “The Songs That Bind,” published in The New York Times, Seth Stephens-Davidowitz analyzed Spotify data to understand the reason he loves Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” so much—and why his brother doesn’t share the feeling. Spoiler alert: He doesn’t explain what’s right or wrong with that exact song. What Stephens-Davidowitz found is much more interesting. The year we are born influences our music taste. According to his research, men form their adult taste in music between the ages of 13 and 16. For women, the most important period is from 11 to 14 years old. And the most remarkable part (for me, at least): The majority of people stick with the music they loved during the earliest phase of their adolescence.
I can’t analyze data to prove—you, my friend, or even myself—that my taste in music isn’t weird, but I tried something else. I was 13 between 2004 and 2005; some of the most popular artists during those years according to Billboard are: Linkin Park, Avril Lavigne, Ashlee Simpson, Simple Plan, Green Day, The Killers, Fall Out Boy and The All-American Rejects. I could tell a different story about my relationship to each of theses artists, but I’ll just show you some pictures instead.
Here’s me wearing Avril Lavigne merch and staring at the wall of Luiza’s room, which was covered with pictures of the Canadian singer:
Here’s me wearing a Simple Plan shirt in 2007 and, then, a picture I took the last time I saw them live in 2017:
I know, I was emo.
Alright, you say, but that just proved you were weird. True, but let me try to explain. While I do, click to hear my Spotify Time Capsule, which is more spot-on than playlists I've created myself.
A friend once said the bands we loved during our adolescence are like an ex-boyfriend you kind of got over, but not really. You don't really listen to them on the daily anymore, but you freak out when that one song comes up. It's familiar and it made you so happy at one point, which makes it harder to let go.
I have one poster in my room in Kent. I don’t even like it that much, but I bought it and hung it on my wall because of its significance. It’s a signed Good Charlotte poster, designed exclusively for their 2016 comeback tour. That was the first time I ever saw them live, 10 years and 345 days after I missed their only concert in Brazil, on November 26, 2005, which also happened to be my 14th birthday.
Good Charlotte has a huge importance in my life, and it’s not only because I never got over my parents not taking me to another city to see them play. It’s the first band every friend who met me until around 2010 will say makes them think of me. It’s also the reason why, ultimately, I wanted to be a journalist.
The largest book store in my hometown is located in a mall I used to visit at least twice a week during my teenage years. One day, I was in the magazine section when I came across a story about Good Charlotte in one of them. It wasn’t even a cover story and the imported magazine was really expensive, but I bought it anyway. I wasn’t used to reading in English either, so going through the pages took me a while. When I was done, I was amazed. Was it really possible to make a living writing about things I loved?
When I sit down to write about music now, I can’t help but think of that moment. There are many new bands I fall in love with daily and writing about them never fails to put a smile on my face. I like to think that somewhere in the world there's a teenage girl that will read one of my features about her favorite band and realize she, too, can be writing one of those one day.
The thing about loving music is the songs you like can become a soundtrack of your life. There are tracks that will always remind me of different moments; some of them make me smile, others make me want to cry. There are songs that tell stories I identify with and songs that I want to write stories about. There’s that one song I couldn’t hear for a long time because of the guy who sang it to me once. There’s that band whose singer reminds me of a guy I used to date. There are songs my mom didn’t mind me playing in her car—and ones she asked me to skip. There are songs I can only hear in certain places. There are songs that make me think of each one of my friends, or of people I don’t talk to anymore. And there’s that music video that my grandma loved because of the shoes the girl wore:
Each of these songs explains a part of me and, while I’ll never be 13 again, these are tunes that will always help me remember of the things I experienced then. I think that’s why people hold on to the songs from their teenage years, why they listen again and again: So they can have these moments back. The songs you fell in love with when you were young will always be a reminder of the things you’ve seen, the places you’ve been and the people you’ve met.
For me, listening to a song you once loved is a lot like seeing a familiar face in a foreign place or getting back home after a stressful day. Like Death Cab For Cutie's Ben Gibbard reminds us: "There is comfort in the sound."
Luiza and I didn’t have a lot of trouble picking out the soundtrack of our trip, but we disagreed on many aspects. She didn’t like Avril Lavigne’s first album, and I got tired of her second record. Pop music usually united us, a fact I was pretty impressed with. The song we ended up listening to the most—probably at least once a day—was “Last Nite” by the Strokes, a track we used to be obsessed with in middle school. On our last drive, I decided to try something.
We’d been driving since eight in the morning and it was really dark out, so I let out a sigh of relief when I saw the first sign to Akron. We’re almost there, I told my friend, who was pleased with the news. To celebrate, I decided to turn the music up. Be prepared for the song I’m going to play, I warned with a smile. I’m scared, she laughed, before this came on:
I knew it! Luiza exclaimed and started to sing along. By the chorus, we were louder than the speakers, smiles on our faces and—I’ll admit—some tears on my eyes.
Hearing it made me nostalgic. We changed a lot over the years and became almost opposites. But that song reminded me of when we were kids sharing headphones on our way to class. Without it, we may not have become friends and made so many other memories together over during the past 13 years. It also made me sad. Having my friend around for two weeks was like listening to my old favorite songs every day. It was easy and comforting. I knew what she'd say or how she would act the same way I remember chords, beats and song lyrics. Now she was leaving and I'd have to change the soundtrack.
If you pressed play, you probably couldn’t understand the song’s meaning. That’s ok, it doesn’t really matter. The song is about a guy who can’t get over his ex-girlfriend. The chords are simple and the singer claims things like, “I can’t live without you” and “I can’t get over you.” If you’ve ever seen a local band play, they probably had a song just like that.
Remember that show we went to? She asked.
Did we ever see them live? I think you’re thinking of another band, this one… I replied, choosing another band we used to like.
I don’t know if they played, but the singer was definitely at a show we went to. We even took a picture with him!
Did we??? I was pretty sure she was making it up, even though our two weeks travelling around had proven her recollection of our high school days was way better than mine.
Yes! We took a picture and told him we became friends because of that song.
I agreed to look for the picture when I had time and turned the music back up. For the next 20 minutes or so, we listened to a handful of bands we loved in high school. Some were so bad we had to skip, but we sang along to others as if no time had passed.
I was pretty impressed my friend still knew most of the lyrics and didn’t seem bothered by the songs. I don’t think she had listened to that style of music since we graduated and, judging by the songs on her iPod, none of those bands had been on her radar for years.
She made clear they were still special, though. Emoponto's “Mais Uma Vez” was the first song we ever listened to together in 2005. I can barely remember why we started talking that day, but this song came on one of her mix CDs and I was hooked (don’t judge me, I was 13). Next thing I know, I’d been invited to her birthday. Thirteen years later, she’s still one of my best friends. No matter how many songs we hear throughout our lives, this one will always be special.
(By the way, I searched through my old pictures and we were both right. I was thinking of the concert, which it happened on June 15, 2008. That band didn’t play, but the singer was there and we did take a picture with him. Here it is, and I’d say I’m sorry it’s blurry but I’m not—it’s bad enough as it is:)