The Soundtrack of Nostalgia

Written By : Hannah Corbett

They say smell is the strongest sense tied to memory… but I’d argue it’s music.

A single song has the power to ruin your day or save it. To transport you back to a porch swing in the summer of 2009 or remind you of a heartbreak you swore you’d already healed from. Music affects my mood more than anything in the world. And if I’m being honest, it always has.

I started to wonder: Are our music tastes really ours at all? Or are they inherited, passed down like a family recipe you make every other week without even realizing how much it’s shaped you?

In my house, music was like wallpaper, always there, covering the background of every moment. My childhood was soundtracked by George Strait, Toby Keith, The Rolling Stones, a little Shania Twain and Fleetwood Mac, some Michael Bublé on Sunday mornings, and The Beach Boys when we needed cheering up. And even now, all these years later, that’s still the music I go back to. The comfort music. The feel-something music.

Of course, time goes on. We grow up, we get Spotify wrapped, we make playlists called "getting ready to romanticize my commute" or "songs for crying at the Whole Foods parking lot." Music evolves. New artists come, new obsessions bloom, and suddenly there’s a new song of the week every week.

But lately, I’ve found myself going backwards.

On a beach weekend recently, I was sitting on the porch with my sister, my best friend, and a glass of Riesling (the holy trinity) and I turned them and said, “I think I was happier when all I listened to was country music.”

They laughed, and said “honestly, me too". There was a time when the first thing I did after school was blast my speaker with Luke Bryan or Blake Shelton. I had a playlist called “Country Drives” and it never failed me.

Of course I liked pop music. But country music felt like home. I’ve come to believe that the songs we grow up on aren’t just background noise, they’re blueprints. And when we stray too far from them, we lose little pieces of ourselves along the way.

Then there are the moments when music comes back to find you.
Like last night, when I was watching The Summer I Turned Pretty and “Wild Horses” by The Rolling Stones started playing during the peach scene with Conrad and Belly.

Now, I’ve known that song for years. But something about hearing it there, in that moment, reimagined and cinematic and dripping in teenage longing (thank you jenny han) cracked me wide open. And I’ve listened to it 53 times since.

Because sometimes a song isn’t just a song.
Sometimes it’s a version of you you’d forgotten.

So I had to wonder:
Will I always be longing over nostalgia, or do I just need to start listening to the music I grew up on again?