It has been said that music has a way of capturing a time and place in your mind better than any other art form. There’s something about popular music (or even not-so-popular music) that can instantly transport you to a precise location with specific people at an exact point in time – say, the high school parking lot during prom night – every time you hear it on your radio, or stereo, or iPod.
It’s uncanny, really. The first couple of seconds of The Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand” or Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” or Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” or Elvis Presley’s “Jailhouse Rock” can conjure up crystal-clear images of where you were when you first heard them. This even holds true with the dreaded ear-worm songs – the ones with the incessantly annoying but undeniably gripping hooks and lyrics that made them chart-toppers even though you hated them with a passion: Paper Lace’s “The Night Chicago Died” or The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar” or Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl” or Sheb Wooley’s “The Purple People Eater.”