Regressive Nostalgia and the Music of the 1970s
There’s nothing like the feeling of the familiar joined with the unfamiliar
As I draft this essay, I’m on the bus to work listening to the Steve Miller Band’s “Wild Mountain Honey” which segues into Bill LeBounty’s “A Tear Can Tell.” I’m not familiar with LeBounty or this song, but it fits perfectly with the groove, and I feel no need to switch the virtual channel.
These past few weeks, my radio station of choice has been Left Coast 70s from Soma FM.
People say the older you get, the further into your past go digging for cherished memories and feelings. It’s a healthy thing, a sign you are processing your past.
Yesterday, a song jumped out at me by John Stewart (1939-2008), erstwhile member of the Kingston Trio, and writer of The Monkee’s hit “Daydream Believer.” But you probably know him for his solid but uninspired top-5 song from 1979, “Gold.”
But this John Stewart song was "Odin (Spirit of the Water)", an entirely different animal, brooding, grooving, incomparable songwriting with exquisite execution.
There’s nothing like the feeling of the familiar joined with the unfamiliar. “I know this song!” and “I don’t know this song” as a single feeling.
Later I went down a rabbit hole and listened to Stewart’s “Bombs Away Dream Babies” (1979) and “Dream Babies Go Hollywood” (1980) studio albums in full. (Both are available on YouTube, but for some reason, from where I’m listening, neither is available on Spotify.)
On these blue highways of 1970s pop, I’ve found hidden gems that enrich my life. “Dream Babies Go Hollywood” went from unknown to one of my favorite albums over the course of a single day.
People say the older you get, the further into your past go digging for cherished memories and feelings. It’s a healthy thing, a sign you are processing your past.
Chat GPT gives a few reasons why we dig deeper as we grow older:
Emotional significance: Memories from childhood and adolescence hold emotional significance, evoking feelings of innocence and joy.
Long-term memory consolidation: Emotionally charged experiences become deeply ingrained in long-term memory, making early memories more accessible.
Comparative perspective: Nostalgia offers a contrast between the past and present, emphasizing the perceived simplicity and happiness of earlier years.
Fading of recent memories: As time passes, recent memories may become less vivid, making older memories more prominent and nostalgic.
Cultural and societal influences: Changes in society and culture can trigger nostalgia for familiar elements of the past, including technology, fashion, and popular culture.
So here I am, a self-professed child of the 1980s, a Britpop fanatic, basking in the afterglow of 1970s sunshine.
In just over a year, I will turn sixty. And lately, I find myself enjoying deep cuts from my childhood. My actual childhood, not the high school and college days people are often nostalgic about, but the days I lived in a house I’d moved out of already by the age of five, grade school when I listed to 45 RPM records with a kid named Painter who lived up the street. Rod Stewart’s “Tonight’s the Night,” Starland Vocal Band’s “Afternoon Delight.” Rose Royce’s “Car Wash” which I play for my kids every time we drive through Neste Quick Wash. The 1970s. Days of AM radio when an AM radio was all I had.
Growing up in the internet age means finding out you're not special. If you’re feeling something you think makes you unique, Google it and you’ll find someone wrote a feature-length piece about it in a major magazine. Excitedly tell a friend you’ve visited the lake your parents took you to as a child, and he’ll wryly dismiss it with "Everyone does that."
So here I am, a self-professed child of the 1980s, a Britpop fanatic, basking in the afterglow of 1970s sunshine.
I got here randomly, by piddling. I bought a Lenco Internet radio for my stereo setup when I got a 1979 tube amp with no Bluetooth. As I was loading stations, in addition to my favorite, Soma FM’s “Underground 80s” I added “Left Coast 70s” because it was there. I'd sometimes sampled it at the end of nights in my basement office after getting tired of Underground 80s. But when I heard these 70s sounds coming through my vintage 70s Technics speakers, I felt I was listening to some late-night radio DJ from the past.
This isn’t my first venture into that decade. My exploration of Van Morrison and Bob Dylan encouraged by a friend in Finland was the start of it as I found myself collecting vinyl I never thought I'd own, the median year of my musical taste being laser-focused on 1980 and later for the most part. Of course, many of those bands I already knew: Wings. The Doobie Brothers. Peter Frampton. Boston. Steely Dan. The Steve Miller Band. The list is endless like the music of any decade, always more to find once you dig in.
I wonder if when I turn seventy, I'll move onto the 60s and find it also rewarding, not just a curiosity but including the discovery of “new” music that speaks to me.
ELO’s “Sweet is the Night” just came on. I had forgotten ELO on my shortlist above. How is that even possible?
Musical taste pervades your life. It’s one of the most important things a person has and something as likely to influence the kind of connections we make as much as anything. The things that impact taste are some of the most important things that happen to you.
Immersing yourself in the music of a decade, you discover cross-influences and relationships that never occurred to you before. Can ELO sound like Bob Dylan? Sometimes. And Steve Winwood like the Doobies? Of course. And a lot of things sound like Wings. John Stewart, I learned, has a strong affiliation with Fleetwood Mac. (Yes, that’s Stevie Nicks’ vocals and Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar you hear on his solo album “Bombs Away Dream Babies.”)
The people who influenced your musical taste are probably your best friends. And your parents. Maybe.
But how will our tastes spread to our children these days? It's not like they will open a closet someday and find our old Spotify “most played tracks of 2022” or the playlists we made for our road trips. But they may find our mixtapes, which makes me glad I started to make those again. And records if we had them. I now have my own and my dad's full collection of classical and jazz music with me here in Finland, the foundations of my musical taste.
And now “Freedom” by Dane Donahue is now playing. I’d never heard of Donahue or the song. He’s singing, “Where will you play when you give all your toys away?
It sounds a bit like The Alan Parson’s Project at times, Chicago at others, and Steely Dan with a sax solo that wouldn’t be out of place on an Al Stewart album. And so many other things, but it’s still unfamiliar.
Is it a good song? That’s not the point. The vibe makes me feel like it’s a summer afternoon in 1978, and I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.