If I had to bet, it was probably Jimi Hendrix, the B-side of the Electric Ladyland cassette that I wore thin in high school, but I couldn’t say with any certainty. The fact that I don’t remember what I was listening to during an act of vehicular deer-slaughter only shows how the music-place connection isn’t absolute. I can show you the spot, but only I get to experience the bizarre, dissonant memory cocktail of a funny musical aha moment with an instant of pure horror. Later, in the very same spot, a deer jumped off a hill into the road, and in a split second I crushed its head with the front of my mom’s Volvo. I can show you the exact twist of road where I realized that The Beatles’ “I’m Looking Through You” wasn’t about a person who was literally transparent. “Eye in the Sky” by the Alan Parsons Project hovers over Sevier Lake a compact storm approaching from the south as I step on the gas to outrun it to the Nevada border along US 50.īefore I ever thought to write a word about travel, songs and places became linked in my mind all on their own. A bass solo of acrobatic agility by Edgar Meyer off Skip, Hop & Wobble lives on that part of Grizzly Peak where eucalyptus trees give way to houses clinging nervously to the cliff over Oakland, tempting disaster.
Buddy Guy’s “Baby Please Don’t Leave Me” lives on a curve next to Sagehen Creek, the volume turned up too high, the curve taken a little faster than my truck could handle comfortably.
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