Just In Case
A Sunday essay about memory, and how mine has worked for me — and others — across my time so far
My wife calls me her “outsourced memory”. She has even introduced me to people as that. I hate when someone says “…and this is hubby!” anyway…
Earlier this week, a friend asked if I could remind her to cancel the free-trial on an app or else she was in for a $400 scrape from her account. I said sure. And reminded her duly. She thanked me. She’d otherwise forgotten.
When I was a toddler I would remember every page of my favourite books and if the adult in view would not take the time to read it to me, I’d just say it to them, turning the pages where I thought it fit.
I had a Superman readalong book and record set, and it was a party trick for a time to recite the entire first half, acting out Superman being crippled by Kryptonite or some shit. Me dropping to one knee and holding my left wrist in my right hand.
For fun, I remembered all of the ‘dead ends’ in the pick-a-path books, so that when I was “choosing my own adventure” I could prolong it, if it said “turn to page 26…or page 136” I instantly knew which one was a trap.
The long winter evenings flew by as I listed out across pages every Smurf I owned by name, or at least by accessory/attachment if they weren’t one of the true crew in blue. A later add-on I didn’t recognise from the series was still at home on my shelf so long as I had the right noun to add them to the files of my internal hard-drive.
All of the toys, and all of the tapes, and then the CDs, and VHS, and then DVDs, records as well. Records of everything — the LPs, the books, the comics, and magazines. Ten years of Modern Drummer and Guitar World on instant recall. February 1992 for the best feature on Jimmy Page. June of 1996 for the ‘Roundtable’ featuring the best session drummers in the Nashville scene. I barely knew a name to connect to an actual album, but I still knew all of the names, and the players they played for. Just in case!
Has it all been just in case?
I’m not saying I have a photographic memory. I know that I don’t. I do not have instant recall of every date, and things that happened in history. I’m not Mary Lou Renner for chrissakes! But, see, I can at least remember that she has that skill.
But if my parents talk about how we went to Manly Beach to stay for a week in the middle of 1990, I will remind them that it was actually November. And they will say “How could you possibly know that, you were so young”. To which I’ll point out, like it’s obvious, that Eric Clapton played the Supertop in Auckland on November 7 of 1990, and we went up a day early so we could all see the show and then fly out. It’ll be on the tip of my tongue to add “DUR!”
Last week I read Ben Lerner’s brand new novel, Transcription. It worries that we have put all our faith in our devices. That without them we won’t remember enough, won’t have the record of it at least; can’t have a conversation with an old friend for a feature article without recording the entire thing.
The first years of interviewing for me were done with pen and paper only, but basically I just listened. And then hit the keyboard after with the knowledge I’d heard at the time. I could carry that conversation with me for days — even up to a month if I had to. Because the conversation had been of value and was about something interesting. So all along the way, I was making markers. I still remember Mark Knopfler telling me in 2007 that you had to get behind the plough and do the work. Straight after that interview I played Tom Waits’ Mule Variations — so that the song about getting behind the mule in the morning and ploughing would keep that great line from the Knopflersaurus in my mind. He bitched, too, that Jeff Beck had played the world’s second ugliest guitar solo on his song Private Dancer for Tina Turner. Mark had meant to do it, but was away that day. You don’t forget that sort of detail — you don’t need a recording of it. The recording of it is the song.
Your brain is the original tape recorder.
Keep filling it, and then emptying it. And refilling it, I say.
You know, just in case!
What a skill!
That was a fun read.