In my family, music was deeply woven into many of our identities. It was a normalcy in our lives, so much so that we oftentimes failed to give it any appreciation.

My grandfather was a local country artist when he was younger and met my grandmother at a town dance. A piano player for her local church who only ever ventured outside of her religious confines for the sake of dancing connected with him through a mutual love for music.

Many of my core memories with them are decorated with my grandfather’s guitars and my grandmother’s “piano fingers” creating the soundtrack.

The Bridge

Antique Fenders and pianos turned into family affairs playing the classic video game Guitar Hero. While silly to admit, this video game shaped much of my life.

For a very separated family, the one thing that routinely brought us together was this music game, even for those who didn’t receive the genetic appreciation for the art itself. This game introduced me to Paramore and is stuck in my memory as the first time music made me feel seen.

This door to new music evolved into a pattern of escaping whatever chaos was occurring in my life by daydreaming music videos and a life outside of my own.

This chronic escapism became so integrated into my identity and routine that I never knew it as its own separate activity. To my surprise, this communicated to those around me that I was “shutting down” when, in fact, I had created a whole vibrant life in my head to the tune of Wild by Saltwater Sun, New Flesh by Current Joys and the like.

So then began an effort to open me up through drives with my dad. There were emotional check-ins, of course, but more than anything I vividly remember my dad’s voice telling me to “punch in” 70s band after 70s band, always followed by the Miami Vice soundtrack.

Music, a tool that once only served the purpose of building the world in my head, quickly became the only outlet to expression I could access.

The Window

In an effort to showcase who I was that day, I would use these drives to play song after song for my dad—many of which he shook his head at. Many of the artists that spoke to me—Sky Ferreira, Kendrick, Tame Impala—didn’t gain his approval, though he did share my love for Indie bands like Catfish and the Bottlemen, The Strokes and so on. Thanks to Guitar Hero, he was already familiar with The Killers, specifically When You Were Young: a title that we coined as “ours” and still holds true even in times of distance.

There never was any true reason that we could point to that would explain why this became our song—nor did we ever try to find one. It just always was.

As I listen to it while writing this, I laugh at how perfect it is and how awfully funny life can be. The song is magical and intense with an undertone of confusion. With sparkly synths and harsh drums, it’s riddled with nostalgia and conflict. This song is both about how we look for saviors in our everyday life, and the disappointment that inevitably follows when people prove themselves as only human. The instrumental alone conveys this beautiful free-fall from the pedestals we create.

The Fond Memory

“We’re burning down the highway skyline on the back of a hurricane that started turning when you were young.”

I will always cherish those drives and every moment playing that random video game with my family. Those moments seem so far away now, but music remains the piece of those memories that I can always carry with me.

An intangible godsend, a tool and a constant. A bridge, a window and a fond memory. A mission to coin a song with every person I love.