Remember Springsteen

Strange things happen when you buy a CD-Player.

Most here will know that I am a proud member of the Tech-savvy, and for those who don’t know I’m also an Audio Engineer, almost all of you will know I love my films. My house is populated by all manner of technology; two LCD panels, one standard and one HDMI DVD player, two decent surround setups, a good little shelf system for out in the sun-room, and my PC to which is attached my monitors via an industry standard sound-card.

In my bedroom, there was nothing.

For years I spent most of my time in the studio listening to music, watching films and playing games, but my CD collection resides in my bedroom. Most of my listening is done on file from what I’ve lifted from the collection, but there are still quite a few CDs that I don’t usually listen to on a regular basis.

So I bought another shelf system for my room.

After running through my usual diagnostic CDs to have a thorough listen, I’ve been listening to a lot of older discs that I haven’t listened to in ages. One of them was the soundtrack to Jerry Maguire.

Jerry Maguire hit when I was in high-school, full of the usual turbulent hormones and emotions. Cinema was undergoing a revolution in Melbourne; not a lot of people went, and prices were exorbitantly high. This gave rise to what we now affectionately call Tightarse Tuesdays, where films were cheaper on Tuesday by a significant sum. Naturally on a Tuesday instead of being in school, we often went to the cinemas to watch the latest and greatest films. Actually, my memories are returning a lot quicker now that I’m reminiscing. Tuesdays were for social visits, but back then I was already a keen cinema-goer, so I would see a lot of films on their Thursday night premieres.
In any case, I digress.
I fell in love with Jerry Maguire – the film that is, not the character. It was such a wonderful portrayal of someone who didn’t quite get it about love, but who by learning through his experiences let his emotions finally be expressed. Poor Renee, she essentially is the carrot dangling at the end of the stick, but their final scene showing her open acceptance of our would-be hero was great stuff when I was young. I remember the level of maturity and elation that I felt throughout the films’ many emotional peaks; I yearned for that sense of love and passion, and any film that showed it in generous proportions was a wonderful indulgence for me.

This of-course brings us to Springsteen’s Secret Garden, and a whole new generation of fans that the film made.
I had the soundtrack to the film the very next day, and back then in the days before portable mp3-players, I took it to school with me in my CD Walkman. Myself and another girl who enjoyed a flirtatious but clearly romantically-unconnected friendship would listen to that song over and over again, and every time I heard it I would feel that same elation in my chest, that heavy tug of the heart that made me want to fall into someone’s arms and lie with them forever. I would listen to it at night through headphones to make the experience more private, I took it with me everywhere I went in my Walkman.

–

Last night I had a strange feeling. The feeling that I wanted to hear The Who, Elvis, His name is alive, Aimee Mann, and the Boss all in one hit. This is none other than the Jerry Maguire soundtrack. Now that I have a good little shelf-system of my own, in the disc went.
I was flooded with memories, but they were all changed now. Not tainted, but perhaps viewed through tinted lenses of experience. I’ve had relationships since then, I’ve felt real elation with real people, shared kisses and been physically intimate, and all of this was now part of my experience while I lay there listening.

Then Bruce Springsteen came on, and my heart half leapt.

Half, because it didn’t leap the way it did all those years ago. It wasn’t exactly the same feeling, something which I felt had been led up to through listening to these tunes again after so long. I felt… disappointed? For a moment, yes. I felt like the I couldn’t be touched by the same things again. I started to ask myself had I grown colder or less sensitive to romantic things? I began to look at my life now and the arts I indulge in, and fewer of them have romance as their core element. But some deeper, more wise part of my psyche came to my consciousness and reminded me of the things I’m romantic about now, and that there are plenty of them, they’re just very different from how they were when I was a teenager, and so they should be.
That little tinge of disappointment was perhaps a little of my mourning of innocence lost, of looking back at how blindly I wanted to fall in love back then and how good that anticipation felt, how bad the frustrations of loneliness were. Now after several relationships, I don’t think I want to fall in love any less, or with any less enthusiasm. Perhaps now I’m just a little bit more… careful.

I listened to Secret Garden again, and the warm mellow tune felt right again. It summons very different feelings, but they’re inclusive of that nostalgia that meant so much to me then. I went to sleep knowing that I’m still just as ready for life, and ready for love.