…and it was everything I hoped it would be. This was not just a museum of rock & roll. It was a massive sensory overload flashback of my life. And yours, too.
It’s the first time you heard Johnny Cash’s cover of Nine Inch Nails’ Hurt. When you learned the words to It’s The End of the World (And I Feel Fine). Bohemian Rhapsody. Gangsta’s Paradise. Creep. The first time you saw the Thriller video. The opening riff to Smells Like Teen Spirit. Purple Rain. My Sharona. Space Oddity. Everlong. You Shook Me All Night Long. Walk This Way. Supermassive Black Hole.
Perhaps no video more perfectly encapsulates what music can do to/for people than this one for Tiny Dancer:
Although I personally prefer the version from Almost Famous. This just wrecks me every time:
There are songs that take you back to a specific moment in your life, right? Remind you of certain people, certain moments? That’s how it works for me, too. Now imagine walking into a space six levels high with the iconic songs of your life coming at you from every direction and overlapping like the world’s best remix that goes on for hours.
I’m trying to convey to you what it is like to experience this place. I’m not sure I am doing a great job, because words and photos aren’t the best medium. Perhaps you should go and see it for yourself.
Depending on where you’re at in life, this might be the best therapy session ever. Or you may get all disturbed and weirded out, because scenes from your past will bubble up. That’s just how songs work.
Personally, I got all weepy and wistful (in the good way) with memories I had completely forgotten about running over me like a freight train, or ten. Frankly it’s a wonder I could successfully walk without falling over. Although I might have leaned on a wall or two. It was cathartic is what I’m saying.
If this isn’t the review you were expecting, it might be because most people are unaware of my extreme love of music. This is mostly because dancing around the room singing as loud as I can is undignified …so I don’t often do it when people are around. The exception being my neighbors, who show their support with helpful questions like “What is that GODAWFUL screeching?!” Um, that’s me, screaming along with Dave Grohl. Thanks for asking.
Now it’s your turn. Turn it up.
In probably unrelated news, my car’s headlights failed while I was driving through a tunnel on the remote Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. So: unexpected side trip to the local dealership.