Memory (An Article About Memory or The Memory Article)
It is too easy in these modern times to cruise the internet’s infinite avenues of information; to scroll, and tap, and swipe; to fall victim to endless rabbit holes that produce more questions than answers: what to watch? What to read? What podcast to listen to? Procrastination should not be underestimated - the wrong choice can steal an afternoon. Sometimes it takes a word, or a specific person, or a piece of music to unlock a chain of memories that link up moments in time like a child’s dot-to-dot falling off the page; when this occurs, when the mind is transported back in time with the realisation of new connections it never knew were there, you can ride a wave of self-satisfying nostalgia.
Towards the end of last year I was fortunate enough to see Ian McKellen’s one-man show at the Harold Pinter Theatre, invitingly titled Ian McKellen on Stage With Tolkien, Shakespeare, Others and You. The performance drew on the impressive capability of memory as McKellen recounted his early life in Lancashire, his initial introduction to the theatre, and his eventual emergence as a prominent, respected actor whose ever-increasing roles - and successes - solidified his status as a household name. But it was the second half of the show, as he worked his way effortlessly through Shakespeare’s 37 plays, quoting line after line, sharing anecdotes, recalling parts that defined his career and life, that truly highlighted an advancement beyond the boundaries of the average mind - it was a faultless display of memory that endeared the whole theatre to this living example of the dedicated actor, this staple of the tireless, ardent slogger whose work spanned six decades; it was a revelation, an affectionate tribute, an opportunity for the actor to eulogise the art that continues to inspire him and his work. Consequentially it became a homage to the talents of the actor himself. It was a scintillating performance that captivated the audience throughout.
Several months later I am flicking through podcasts before work when I come across BBC Radio 4 - Desert Island Discs, Sir Ian McKellen. There are some things I have to be in the mood for, but McKellen is so likeable, so affable, so relentlessly dedicated to what he does: the choice was made. Record number two is Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, chosen by the actor in anticipation of his imagined journey to the island, selected ‘to indulge my melancholic mood.’ A familiar piece of music, like Adagio for Strings for McKellen, takes on new meaning with the hindsight of repeated listens and the memories that are linked to it. I didn’t know it by its title, but as the song began it immediately took me back to a specific period of adolescence. Most Fridays after school I would visit the same friend and we would choose between three films - we never deviated from the three, we were creatures of habit, basic fifteen year-olds: it was a continual toss-up: American Pie; Cool Runnings; Kevin and Perry Go Large. In the latter, there is a defining moment when the slow strains of Adagio for Strings dramatically interrupts the Ibiza club anthem that holds the masses in a trance-like state of euphoria; Adagio for Strings symbolises the end of the holiday dream. The two anti-heroes are left covered in sick, bucket hats drenched, humiliated before the rammed club of revellers and pill heads. It is a defining moment that highlights the pride, the fall, the confusion and complexities of young adulthood - crucially it held a mirror up to myself, to the typical, self-centred, impressionable teenager. Adagio for Strings reflected both my pity for Kevin and Perry and my own teenage melodrama. There is hidden meaning in those sopping bucket hats of lost dreams; in the frustration; in the chaos of my own adolescence that nobody seemed to understand.
This new link is unexpected and stretches back two decades. It is a familiar tune for a barely- remembered time. This is the wonder of procrastination: the power of memory - is it really procrastination if the memory muscle is inadvertently flexed, and the resultant journey is worthwhile? New links are reassuringly formed in life’s dot-to-dot that were impossible to foresee. It is a reminder that memory is inextricably linked to creativity, both nostalgic and visionary, and that the beauty of moments that occur from nothing, from the ether - sparking new links, new ideas - reassuringly create new opportunities for creative outputs and endeavours. Memory is like a precious stone, its vitality both fragile and priceless. Is it any wonder it forms the introduction to
many funerals: as we gather here today, to remember...? It is something to respect and cherish while we still have it.
Adagio for Strings took on new meaning. When I hear it now, not only do I picture Kevin and Perry in Club Amnesia ‘avin it large while juggling the exhausting prospect of impending adulthood - I think of Ian McKellen springing up from his wooden chest full of trinkets, props and the Works of Shakespeare - the living embodiment of a jack-in-a-box - to make his grand entrance on a London stage, with an enviable youthfulness of spirit at the unfathomable age of 80, dressed as Gandalf the Grey, staff raised high to bellow perhaps the most easily-remembered quote of the night: ‘You shall not pass!’ Music, people, performances have the inestimable power to transform our memories, to multiply them, to benefit and drive our creativity, which connects dots we didn’t know were there, which forms the unique tapestry to our lives. Our treasured memories - those that we create, mould and cling to - manifest themselves inextricably in their ability to satiate and sustain our joie de vivre.
Written by Luke Whewall
Luke is a thirty-something living in exile on the Bedminster/Southville border. Luke was born in Barnsley. His grandfather was a miner. Luke was born in the 80s, grew up in the 90s, and reached some form of adulthood in the 00s. Luke graduated in English. His passions include (but are not limited to): dogs; books; Barnsley Football Club; hedgehogs (RIP Winona; 2016-2019); Italy; coffee; pizza; the NHS; anything ever recorded by Bradford J. Cox.