four days in atlanta: a soundtrack

Neko Case, “Thrice All American”
As the plane prepares its descent into Atlanta, Neko confides to me:
I want to tell you about my hometown
It's a dusty old jewel in the South Puget Sound …
She’s talking about Tacoma, Washington, — not Atlanta — but the words seem to fit my return to the city that feels more like my own hometown than the actual place.
When I see the first rise of buildings from the jet’s window, I feel a surge of … something. It’s not nostalgia. It’s a rush of palpable familiarity, like sliding on an old T-shirt that you haven’t worn in a while and finding that it still fits you exactly the same way. The song wraps up just as the landing gear hits the runway.

Erykah Badu, “Tyrone”
In the rental car (gold Chevy P.O.S.), I am relieved to find that I still know how to drive. I zip through traffic on 85 and realize that my newfound New York impatience applies equally to idiotic drivers. What’s fascinating is not the fact that some radio station is actually playing Eyrkah, but that I’d forgotten how much I miss hearing radio at all.

Queen Latifah, “California Dreamin’”
I’m back at my old desk in the magazine office, which has hardly been touched in the four months since my move to New York. It’s a little bit creepy, really, how little has changed on the surface. I’m happy to find that I’d downloaded Latifah’s jazzy “Dana Owens Album,” which is all covers. It becomes my background music for much of the next three days.

Madison Park vs. Lenny B “More Than This”
Homo night at Halo, and my buddy Brandon Sutton is lording over the turntables as always. His impeccable taste in tunes is thankfully intact, and he turns me on to this catchy new cover from local lounge lizards Madison Park. After we riff on music for a bit, Brandon orders me a drink — a vodka tonic the size of a Big Gulp. We chase it with tequila shots. Ah, Atlanta. My liver has not missed you one bit.

Sarah McLachlan, “I Will Remember You”
It’s after dark and I’ve just wrapped up my final issue of the magazine. I’ve said good-bye to my (now-former) co-workers and I’m wheeling the rental out of the rear parking lot. Sarah shows up in a spin through the FM presets and I listen to exactly 10 seconds of the song
(Don’t let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories)
before popping in a CD.

Loleatta Holloway, “Stand Up”
The disc is the new “Queer As Folk: Club Babylon,” and I’m screaming up 85 again, headed to see my parents. It’s my first time listening to the two-disc set since a friend gave it to me earlier that day. Disc one gets only a cursory listen (lots of oldies), but disc two has a couple of new tracks, like Loleatta, that are keepers.

Louis XIV, “Finding Out True Love is Blind”
Things that annoy me about my father. 1) He talks too much and never listens. 2) He’s a relentless hypochondriac. 3) He’s started smoking again, despite his doctor’s warnings. 4) He has a freakish talent for finding interesting new music and turning me onto it.
On second thought, scratch that last one.

Michael Buble, “Feeling Good”
Back in the rental, it’s a fan-fucking-tastic blue-sky Saturday and I’m tearing down the freeway toward a 6 o’clock flight that will take me back to my BF, who I am missing like crazy. This is my first exposure to the new Buble disc, and I’m surprised to hear him covering Nina Simone on the opening track. It suits my current mindframe just fine.
Birds flying high you know how I feel
Sun in the sky you know how I feel
Reeds driftin’ on by you know how I feel
It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life
For me
And I’m feeling good.