The Soundtrack of Our Lives
Long Center’s Soundtrack Series continues Friday & Saturday
By Chase Hoffberger, 11:07AM, Fri. Sep. 6
In 2005, my buddy Zach and I were driving through Charleston, SC., on the tail end of a road trip up the East Coast when an old mix CD we’d popped into the car stereo shuffled onto the Counting Crows’ “Colorblind.” Zach, who’d been talking nonstop since Jacksonville, fell totally silent.
“What’s up?,” I asked, wondering if he’d just seen one of those southern Gothic ghosts.
He looked at me from the passenger seat.
“This is the song I lost my virginity to.”
The trauma that comes with scarring such a landmark moment with Counting Crows’ “Colorblind” aside, the all-encompassing takeaway from that moment was that everyone has a handful of songs that they’ll forever associate with specific eras and events in their lives.
Maybe they’re wonderful. For me, Nas’ “The World Is Yours” always takes me back to the first time I saw someone cut up a record at a Brooklyn house party. Maybe they’re embarrassing. (Who loses their virginity to “Colorblind,” really?) Either way, they’re associations tattooed inside your ears.
Tonight and tomorrow at the Long Center, a collection of comedians and local figures – including Chronicle Music editor Raoul Hernandez (Saturday) – gather to reveal their hilarious, embarrassing, or otherwise heart wrenching memories they associate with specific songs. It’s part of the nationally touring Soundtrack Series, which comes to town after a successful stint in New York City.
Think of it like a musical iteration of the popular Mortified series, which calls for participants around town to read old song lyrics or relics from their middle school diaries. Some will be funny, some will strike terror into your heart, but they’ll all serve as solid reminders that “soundtrack of our lives” is more than just a figure of speech.
Storytelling starts at 8pm both nights and runs until 11. Tickets here, and remember: no matter how cringe-inducing any memory is, it will never – ever – be as bad as losing your virginity to the slow, morose coo of the Counting Crows’ Adam Duritz.