The Soundtrack of My Life


The Morlocks from the original Time Machine

In my blissful 70s youth, I have fuzzy recollections of falling asleep to Dr Demento and offbeat hits like “They’re Coming to take Me Away” by Napoleon XIV or “Hocus Pocus” by Focus. The outro/epilogue to the Moody Blues’ “Nights in White Satin” used to scare me with its dramatic orchestral flourishes followed by the mysterious, “Breathe deep the gathering gloom…” sequence. It also will always evoke images from the original motion picture of H.G. Wells’ “The Time Machine” , especially the Morlocks. (I think I first heard the song on late night radio right after watching the film on the Channel 7 Late Show. I have yet to see the 2002 version with Guy Pearce, as it got severely panned. But images I came across of the newer Morlock species definitely has my curiosity piqued.) Other songs that, due to their original late night spins, always make me melancholy and sleepy:

“Dreamweaver” by Gary Wright
“I’m Not in Love” by 10CC
“Wildfire” by Walter Murphy
“Main Street” by Bob Seger
“Shannon” by Henry Gross
“All By Myself” by Eric Carmen
“Never Gonna Fall in Love Again” by Eric Carmen

Thomas Dolby’s Golden Age of Wireless LP always brings back memories of “The Hunger” . Images and ideas from the film stuck with me as I listened to tracks like “One of Our Submarines” and “Europa and the Pirate Twins”. (It also reminds me of the horrific insomnia I had at the time, which stuck with me for some 15 years. In this stylish vampire flick, one theme was how sleep affects aging. Very depressing at the time: I was convinced I had about ten years more to live. (I still don’t know why this flick gets such a low rating. Me thinkey it be a masterpiece.) The Housemartins’ first 2 LPs will always remind me of the cute, pre-nose job Jennifer Grey doppelganger who worked at the Seneca Mall Cavage’s. During one of the numerous trips in which I failed to strike up even a casual conversation with her, I heard her mention how much she loved said English band. I even followed her weekly to a local college bar for drink and drown night. My drink and drown partner in crime, Brian, actually knew her and attempted to facilitate an introduction. But one look from him in conversation with her evinced a wide-eyed, panicky shake of the head or, in one case, a hasty beeline for the door. Fear and social retardation at its finest. (We had a running joke about it. We referred to my specific fear of record store chicks as “genaphobia”: Her name was Gena.)

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