Rearwyrms: Perseid Meteor Shower
ISSUE #68
I had to write a check earlier this week, and while digging through my drawers I came across my old iPod(s)—three black Classics, because each, at one point, I thought I had lost. Twice I asked for a new one for Christmas, before finding both when I finally packed to leave Iowa City. Now, I have three perfectly preserved musical time capsules (remember the click-wheel?) and monuments to teenage corniness. Unfortunately, one is even inscribed with "New York, I love you but you're bringing me down" (never been).
Most importantly, they're laden with playlists that are proto-Earwyrms of sorts. Surprise, I've been obsessed with making these my whole life.
I found one called "Perseid," named for the meteor shower that comes every August like clockwork, which was timely so I wanted to share it. I used to lay in my yard and wait for the space rocks to burn up, my own tiny ritual before every new school year. I found it a comfortable way to mark the passing of time, pretending I could see past the atmosphere and recognize the same space we passed last year, the way you can kind of see the full shape of a waning moon. I think this playlist was made in August 2011.
It gave me the idea of time capsule series—just for every once in awhile—to see what holds up and what was teenage folly. Things I learned from this one:
I used to get my songs almost solely from movies: "Ooh La La" because I was obsessed with Rushmore, "Teenage Dream" from Scott Pilgrim, "Our Swords" from Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist.
Is there any teenager in the world who can resist putting "Just Like Heaven" on a mix?
Coconut Records is a band that just doesn't exist, along with The Wombats, and arguably Phantogram
"Wouldn't it Be Nice" proves a rule I've always believed in: that the best album openers should also be able to function as album closers, the way the same sentence can bookend Finnegan's Wake.
I guess it doesn't take a shrink to notice that I've been feeling nostalgic lately. Blame it on Little Women!