Springsteen

One of Eric Church’s most known songs is the track, “Springsteen”. Off of his Chief album, “Springsteen” hit number one on the country charts in 2011. When I saw him in concert two weeks ago, he closed with this song, pausing to discuss the power of a melody to invoke memories of moments in time. I have many of these memories.

Whenever I hear TLC’s “Waterfalls,” I’m on the bow of my father’s boat, skin warm from the summer sun, dancing with my best friends—the girls who are still my best friends and the Godmothers to my children. It’s instantly sunny and clear, and I think I have “swag” as I belt out Left-Eye’s rap solo toward the end of the song.

I’m transported to the O’Donnell Auditorium, at old Woburn High, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving whenever The Spice Girls’ “Wannabe” comes on the radio. The first annual lip sync began that November in 1997, complete with acts by The Rolling Stones, Pearl Jam, Puff Daddy—before he was P Diddy, or Diddy—as well as my friends and I telling everyone what we want, what we really, really, want. 

The opening riff—da da dA da da da, da da dA da da da— of “Send Me On My Way” by Rusted Root places me firmly on the patio of Jessie Doe at UNH in May. We’ve traded our fleece jackets for light hoodies, windows are once again open to allow for some relief from the stuffy dorm atmosphere, and the year is drawing to a close. No matter where I go on campus, the yodeling of “Send Me On My Way” provides a soundtrack for my walk.

And naturally, when Tracy Byrd begins singing, “it was no accident, me finding you…” I’m on the dance floor of the Hillview Country Club, spinning into the arms of my husband as we celebrate our first dance as husband and wife.

The list of pivotal moments and of relationships celebrated and cherished through the memory of melody is extensive, but most recently, Eric Church has made his way into my life’s soundtrack with “Springsteen.” It isn’t because his song speaks of music memory that makes it important, though. Plenty of other songs have had similar messages, one of my favorites being Kenny Chesney’s “I Go Back.”

No. It isn’t the sentiment of the song that makes it stand out.

When I hear the low “whoa, whoa, whoooawhoa, whoa, whoa, whoooawhoa” chant half way through “Springsteen”, I’ll see my three-year-old blond-haired, blue-eyed boy, bobbing his head to the words, his little mouth shaping out the sounds while a smile twitches in the corner of his lips, shoulders alternating—up and down—dancing to the music.

To me, the “whoa whoa” song, as he calls it, will always be his song. Whenever I hear it, he will always be three. In that moment, music is melody and memory magic.