It was the first time you heard a particular note, drum beat or electronically created sound that made your ears tingle, your heart skip a beat and resonated with your soul. This is “My Song” – a series where the music that makes the person is spotlighted. Guest writer Serenity Fournier looks fondly on one of the few grunge rock songs that created an emotional connection with her that still lives on.
I was barely ten years old when I was riding with my dad turned on the car radio. He was flipping through the stations, I guess unable to find something he liked. Sometimes my dad has a weird way of liking a song one day and refusing to listen to it the next. So there were at least three instances during that ride where I heard something familiar that at one point he enjoyed, but couldn’t stand hearing one second of it. Then something interesting happened.
The sounds of a guitar slowly strumming led in the faint, almost inaudible words of the lead singer. I looked at my dad bobbing his head, so I listened to this music that must sound pretty good because Dad likes it. And, before I knew it, I was rocking to the grooves again. I could barely comprehend what the singer was saying, but the way he said it was full of emotion and made my little heart swoon.
I would tell a particular author from this site (and my good friend) about this random song I heard over the weekend, causing him to bring his 9-volt radio that looked like a mini refrigerator with holes in the front to school. We’d sneak out of the cafeteria during lunch and listen to the radio to hopefully find this song gem. It would take us almost a week, but he was finally able to hear what I heard.
It didn’t take long before we were trying to decipher the lyrics and learn entire song. That song was none other than British grunge band Bush’s most known song, Glycerine. Many years have passed since that day driving with my dad flipping through the radio stations before finding something interesting, and Glycerine still gives me Goosebumps anytime it comes on my iPod.
