Why Music Owns Memory

The power of music. It’s not a new idea. It’s been a universal truth for centuries. But if you’ve lived even a little, you already know this: music doesn’t just fill the silence. It defines the moment.

I’m writing this on a window bench at a surf lodge on Gabriola Island, the ocean is outside, flowers in the air, and guests are chatting about their day. It’s perfect. But what makes it magic is the soft classical music in the background. It’s the music that locks this scene into memory.

Music Raised Me

I can’t remember the first song I ever heard, but I remember my parents’ eclectic tastes, classical one day, 60s folk the next. Like most kids, I was at the mercy of whatever the adults played. Until one day, I got my hands on my parents’ old 8-track player. I had two cassettes: John Denver and ABBA.

Weird combo, right? But even at nine years old, I got it. John Denver for the raw, honest storytelling. ABBA for the unapologetic joy and energy. I’d lie on my back for hours, listening and imagining myself as one of them, strumming the guitar, playing the piano, performing to an audience that didn’t exist.

At 11, I snuck into a friend’s older brother’s room and pulled a record off his shelf. U2’s War. It blew my fucking mind. Raw. Gritty. Dripping with angst. Each song transported me into a new emotional world. That record didn’t just play music, it rewired me.

Music as a Connector

Music is more than sound; it’s glue. It binds people in ways words can’t.

In high school, one of my best friends, Scott, was a guitar prodigy. To this day, Zeppelin and early Chili Peppers will always equal Scott in my brain. Hours of sitting cross-legged on his floor, watching him practice, fumbling along myself. Music wasn’t just noise; it was the space where our friendship lived.

Years later, it happened again when we hosted international students. Playlists shared. Music blasted in the car on pointless drives. Laughter, memories, connection. Some of those songs still hit me like a sucker punch because they’re no longer just songs; they’re the soundtrack of love and friendship that touched me deeply.

Music as a Time Machine

The science is clear: music and memory are tangled up in the same wiring in our brains. But you don’t need science to know this. You just need to hear the opening bars of that song and suddenly you’re seventeen again. Or standing at your wedding. Or driving too fast with your best friend in the passenger seat.

Music is the most powerful time machine we’ll ever have.

For me, moving constantly as a kid, music was my anchor. It was the storybook of my life. It was escape. It was therapy. It made me brave when I was terrified. It made me cry when I needed to. It made me feel understood when no one else could.

Music and Creativity

Music also fuels creativity. Always has.

Think about it: when people say they “hate rap” or “country sucks,” what I really hear is a closed mind. You don’t have to like every genre, but to dismiss them entirely is to miss out on different forms of storytelling, rhythm, and emotion. Every genre has its gems, its truths, its soul.

Creativity is about seeing the world through a different lens. Music is the most powerful proof of that. John Denver and ABBA shaped me as much as U2, Genesis, Def Leppard, or whatever I’ve discovered on Spotify this year. Eclectic taste isn’t a flex, it’s the fuel of imagination.

Why It Matters

What I cherish most about music isn’t just the songs, it’s the people and moments they’re attached to. Every song is a breadcrumb trail back to someone I loved, or a version of myself I forgot about.

Music is proof that creativity isn’t optional. It’s essential. It’s memory, love, and imagination braided into one.

So here’s my question for you:
What song is your time machine, and where does it take you?

These 30+ tracks aren’t a complete anthology of my life; music doesn’t fit that neatly. But they’re stand-outs. Memory sparks. Bangers that defined moments, rewired me, or tied me to people, places and moments I love.