When Sound Becomes Memory: How Music Transports Us Through Time

Do you ever torture yourself with music? I do. Sometimes a certain song will transport me to the best and worst times of my life. It’s like auditory scab-picking—sticking a finger into an old wound just to feel something. Music is amazing that way. This phenomenon is known as “music-evoked autobiographical memory.” It happens spontaneously, and that rapid recall of memories is mostly out of our control.

Music makes us pause and reflect on how we feel. It’s tied to our highs—like wedding dances and graduation parties—and it finds us in our lows, during breakups and funerals. Sometimes shuffle play sends me through a whirlwind of emotions. I have songs that, when they pop up, instantly shift my mindset. The first acoustic album by the band Bayside transports me almost immediately to a memorial service the week we returned from Iraq. I listened to that album on repeat during our out-processing period. It always reminds me of that dissonant homecoming era.

The Gap Band reminds me of dancing wildly with my siblings during weekends with our dad. He’d pump classic rock and funk through his massive stereo system. We’d go nuts. My mom loses her mind when the “Electric Slide” comes on. Any wedding or party playing that song will find her leading the dance floor. Certain Christian songs remind me of the years my wife led worship at various churches and outreach events. I miss her singing—but that’s another story.

When 2000s-era hardcore and metal show up in the rotation, that old familiar angst rises in my blood. Once the breakdowns slow to halftime, I forget I’m in my 40s and pretend I’m an angry teen again. When I hear late ’90s punk rock, I reminisce about when skateboarding was my entire personality.

I have a small wind-up stuffed elephant that I was given as a baby. It lives in my attic now. When I placed it into those dark recesses, I mistakenly wound the music box inside it. “You Are My Sunshine” struggled to play. Tears filled my eyes as I remembered my grandmother singing it to me in her raspy voice. Music can detonate memories like an improvised explosive device at any time. Our brains are so amazing.

Sometimes it’s not even music that takes me back, but a sound. Bobwhite quail calls remind me of summers spent in South Carolina with my grandmother’s family. The high-pitched ting of an aluminum bat connecting with a baseball brings me back to Little League. The trilling of toads evokes memories of adventures across continents. The high idle of a diesel motor reminds me of countless hours in large Army vehicles. Seagulls always bring to mind either beach vacations—or oddly enough—a Hardee’s parking lot in summer.

Do you have songs or sounds that always take you to another time and place? Do you listen to them intentionally to summon those memories, or let them catch you off guard? Are there songs you avoid?

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Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker from Bethania, North Carolina. His work has been published in Reptiles Magazine, Dirtbag Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, Backcountry Journal, Wildlife in North Carolina, SOFLETE, The Tarheel Guardsman, Wildsound Writing Festival, and others. His poetry collection “A Toad in a Glass Jar” is scheduled for publication in late fall 2024 by Dead Reckoning Collective. He has written three Children’s books and one Christian Devotional book. He filmed and directed a documentary about his deployment in Iraq with the Army called “Hammer Down.” He spends most of his free time wrangling toads.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.