Music and Memory

While eating lunch at a local brewery with a group of friends from work, Beth Orton's "Central Reservation" came on. I turned to Stark the Vinyl Shark and said, "I like this song," but he did not hear me because his onion rings were too distracting. Then, this morning during an early run, "Paris Train" hit at the right moment as the sun started to fracture in the mouth of the canyon. I said to myself, "I love this song." No one listened again.

The D Man picked up Beth Orton's Daybreaker in the fall of 2002, my last year of college. I remember listening to the album while going to a friend's football game, the air rich with leaves and schoolkids. "Concrete Sky" was the easy standout, with backing vocals from none other than Ryan Adams. (Johnny Marr was actually given a writing credit for "Concrete Sky," while Adams received one for "This One's Gonna Bruise."). There was a sense of hope in the hopelessness that I gravited to, and to this day, I really enjoy listening to that song.

Later that year, I told my critical theory professor that I listened to Orton. She brought up several female singers she enjoyed, so I felt compelled to give such an acceptable response. Orton's music surfaced again the next summer as Mrs. D Man and I set out across the country for law school. I chose the evocative album to accompany our drive through the first mountain pass as we left our hometown. Sadly, Orton has never approached the strength of her work on Daybreaker. But I suppose we'll always have Paris.