The Music I Forgot I Loved
Updated: Sep 17
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Walking has always been my favourite workout.
Not because I have any particular devotion to walking as exercise. It’s mostly because it comes with my music.
My music.
Just mine.
Give me my noise-cancelling earbuds, a playlist I know well enough to sing along to in my head, and I’m quite happy to walk for a long time.
I’ve always preferred walking alone. Unless the company really matters, I’d rather have the road, my thoughts and whatever I’ve decided to listen to that day.
I only started going to the gym last year, after avoiding it for most of my life. One of the things I never liked was being subjected to someone else’s idea of what I should be listening to while exercising.
Luckily, I found a gym where I can mostly do my own thing. And when I’m not training with my trainer, the treadmill gets the same treatment as my walks: noise-cancelling earbuds, my playlist, and me.
My trainer is away for a week because of the holidays, which means my treadmill and I have been spending considerably more time together than either of us anticipated.
The upside?
More time for my music.
And that’s when things got interesting.
Before Spotify, there was an iPod.
It was filled with music I already had, including the rather eclectic Gostana mix. Eventually, the iPod disappeared, Spotify took over, and my walking playlist changed shape.
The walking didn’t.
Spotify just made it very easy to choose a mood.
Something mellow.
Something loud.
Something vaguely inappropriate for the time of day but perfect for the walk.
Some of the music I remembered wasn't actually on Spotify.
Or, at least, not the version I remembered.
Malibu by Hole, for example. The Ted Ottaviano Mix.
Then there was Noori by Bally Sagoo featuring Gunjan, from the Bend It Like Beckham soundtrack.
There were songs from The Million Dollar Hotel soundtrack.
And a lot of the Khuda Ke Liye soundtrack.
Some of these I'd already written about when my CD player first entered the chat, but hearing them again made me realise there were really two different things happening.
There is music we forget.
And there is music that streaming simply doesn't have.
We have somehow become used to the idea that if a song isn't available on our streaming service, it has practically ceased to exist.
Which is a little absurd when you think about it.
Because the song is still sitting somewhere.
So I started collecting them.
I've made a little playlist on YouTube called Songs Not on Spotify.
A growing collection of songs that, for whatever reason, I can't find on Spotify but clearly still exist in my musical universe.
Consider it a small rebellion against the idea that if Spotify doesn't have it, it doesn't exist.
And then, a few weeks ago, I started listening to CDs again.
I wasn't looking for anything in particular.
But suddenly I was hearing music I had completely forgotten about.
Ben Folds Five.
Creed.
Stabbing Westward.
Vertical Horizon.
Marcy Playground.
And the Spawn soundtrack.
It was a slightly strange feeling.
These weren't songs I had consciously decided I no longer liked. I hadn't rejected them. I hadn't even said goodbye.
They had simply fallen out of my life.
At some point, while I was busy with Gostana, work, life, people, playlists and everything else that fills up the years, they stopped being part of the music I reached for.
They weren't gone.
I had just stopped asking for them.
And then came the other discovery.
I've also been thinking about Pakistani music.
With restrictions on Pakistani artists and content in India, there is another kind of disappearance happening.
Except my relationship with musicians across the border has never had much use for borders.
The friendships are still there.
The music is still there.
The joy of sending each other songs is still there.
And YouTube Music has, thankfully, been something of a musical back door.
Maybe that's what this whole CD experiment has made me think about.
Not really CDs.
Not even nostalgia.
Just how easily music can disappear from our lives without actually going anywhere.
A song can disappear because we stopped listening.
Because an algorithm stopped serving it.
Because a platform doesn't have it.
Because circumstances make it harder to find.
Or simply because life got busy.
And sometimes, all it takes is hearing the first few seconds of an old song to realise:
Wait. I loved this.
So now, when I'm walking, I occasionally find myself digging around for songs I haven't heard in years.
Some are waiting on Spotify.
Some are waiting on a CD.
Some are waiting on my laptop.
And some, apparently, were waiting for me to remember they existed.
My walking playlist may need a little archaeological work.
And I'm perfectly happy to be the archaeologist.
This playlist keeps changing or updating as per artist's moral stand or my mood.
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