cyan's Journal: Reading Between the Lines

November 19th, 1987. Vegreville, Alberta.

I'm sitting in the basement, watching the title screen of "The Castles of Doctor Creep" on my Commodore 64. The game itself is good, but I'm more interested in listening to the music playing along to the title screen. The SID chip continues to play its rendition of Brahms' Hungarian Dance No. 5. I'm completely mesmerized. I don't know it, but this is my first exposure to classical music - through a computer. I won't know the title of the tune until more than a dozen years later.

September 16th, 2009. Gilsland, England.

It's been two hours since the lady running this bed and breakfast has trapped me in the common room. She babbles on in her north English accent, but I don't hear a word she's saying. My mind is miles away, and yet, I continue to smile, nod, and make the appropriate noises at just the right moments. My legs are on fire from walking for several hours on end, and all I want is a hot bath. My iPod is safely tucked away in my room, along with my luggage. I could pull it out, close my eyes, and pretend like I'm somewhere else for a few hours. I resist the temptation.

March 22, 2008. Bingen, Germany.

I'm in a dark room surrounded by hundreds of electronic and computer artists. I've never felt so at home, and yet, so alien. I turn my head to the right, and someone's playing Elwood's "Stompin' Little Scouts". To my left is Purple Motion's "Starshine". Near the front someone plays a chip tune on their Commodore 64. At the back, "Remark Music" blares out on some large speakers hooked up to yet another Commodore.

June 17th, 2009. Highway 2, Alberta.

Demoscene music pours out of the speakers in my Jeep as I fly down the Queen Elizabeth II highway at 120 klicks. The person in the passenger seat calls it "garbage", which causes my hands to tighten on the wheel a little. I keep the peace by switching to some 80's pop. She begins to sing along to "Der Kommissar". This annoys me to no end, but I say nothing, and my grip on the wheel tightens a little more. I pay the price for my silence a month later.

May 14th, 1996. Grande Cache, Alberta.

I sneak out of school early, just before the lunch bell, to run home and get ready. Ian, Thomas, and Stephen will be over for lunch, and it's important that everything's just right for their arrival. I take the steps downstairs two at a time and flip on my old Heathkit amp, turning the volume up to 75%. The four speakers in my bedroom crackle to life as I turn on the PlayStation, the deep bass of the opening sequence surely causing some form of hearing loss. Instinctively I choose track 31 from the audio CD selection screen and then run upstairs to get the food ready. Soon after, Ian walks in the door with a big grin on his face. "Man," he says, "I could hear Ken's Theme from all the way down the fucking block!"

August 3rd, 1998. Berkeley, California.

I'm in a dorm room at the University of California. There exist no MP3 players and the 486 subnote laptop I brought with me hardly has the disk space or the processing power for my collection of modules. I bought a discman from the local Radio Shack, only because I under-estimated how important my ability to listen to music really was. On my desk sits a stack of CD's from the used CD shop down the street. The choir of Carl Orff's "Carmina Burana" sings through my headphones. Years later, someone will tell me that I'm full of myself for posting some of the latin verses.

April 5th, 2009. Edmonton, Alberta.

I'm listening to a performance of Carmina Burana live at the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra, and my jaw hits the floor. At the end, the performance and its 150-strong choir receive a unanimous standing ovation from all who attend. The conductor looks shocked - I've never seen or heard the like before.

December 24th, 1998. Grande Cache, Alberta.

I'm sitting in the living room with Ian at his parent's place, watching End of Evangelion. Komm Susser Tod is playing through the final sequence, and I'm hearing it for the first time. It is one of the most beautiful pieces of music that I've ever heard. Later, someone will tell me that the film was "a whole lot of nothing".

September 25th, 2009. Edmonton, Alberta.

Music has always been a way to demarcate significant events in my life. One such event happened months ago, and yet, I have yet to find a piece of music that fits. Then, all of a sudden, it hits me like a ton of bricks: St. Elmo's Fire.