Sundays in Montreal bring drummers to the base of Mount Royal. Bring your own drum, take a seat. There, we all feel the beat of each other’s drum.
// Montreal. 2016.
As with many discoveries, I came to a great realization without trying. Three days or so into a month-long trip I had organized to travel solo through Montreal and Quebec City, the weight of the trip sank in. I was lonely. Sure, I had gotten out of my home country but I had not yet out of my own head.
At the time, Bon Iver had recently released their latest album “22 A Million.” For weeks, I avoided listening to it—really listening to it—because I wanted to savor it while on my trip. So, three days in, in a particularly difficult moment of “What am I doing?” I turned it on and paced throughout the tiny Airbnb. Soon, my pacing became strolling and my panicking became planning.
In that first week, I played it again and again to repeat those moments of familiarity and composure. While the album itself was new to me, Justin Vernon’s voice* was not. It immediately brought me back to time spent driving through the woods in Minnesota and Wisconsin.
Over the next month (which included one 12-hour long train ride to New York City), it was the only music I chose to listen to. The album served as the bridge between longing for home and keeping up my appetite for seeing someplace new. Throughout my days of walking streets foreign to me, I had a familiar voice in my head to keep me company.
When I got home, a funny thing happened. The album was no longer about home. It was about the trip. Now, it is an album that transports me back to walking down my favorite street in Montreal (Rue Marie Anne), to rushing past Vermont countryside on the train, to sitting in a busy Cafe Saint Henri or Cafe Myriade. Mostly, I think of the miles and miles I walked through neighborhoods. Each of these songs match the photos I took of yellow doors on row houses and bikes near graffiti of ice cream cones. I close my eyes and see coffee cups, and paper shops and rooms I slept in.
More important than a visual reminder is the visceral one I get—a deep feeling of empowerment. Listening, I am reminded of my decision to travel solo, my skillful planning, my adaptability for the days when I would leave the apartment in the morning and stay out until sundown. I am empowered by the meals I shared only with myself, the coffees I ordered in French, the hike up the mountain on Canadian Thanksgiving and the snacks I packed for my own feast at the summit. Proudly I seized opportunities and I made them my own.
Thankfully, I now have a shortcut for visiting them.
Yet, just as it is to eat too much of a sweet thing, I worry that listening too often in my daily life will wear off the intensity of the moments where they were made. I am protective of this album, the way I listen to it, and how often. What started as a fortuitous discovery of music’s transportability is now a measured and intentional practice. Thankfully, I now know how to replicate the outcomes. It is a viable discovery afterall.
*There’s a funny thing about the music of Bon Iver. Though I am certain the lyrics are beautiful and poetic, I have no idea what they are. At best, I can sing along with vowel sounds. It would appear as though I have found comfort only in soulful melodies and passionate harmonies while completely missing out on the poignancy of lyrics. Perhaps it’s a new layer to look forward to on a future trip.
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