I’m sure, it’s not like it was before.
I was lying in bed, during the sleepless hours, in late August in 2005. My room was downstairs, and I was completely alone. Although I was only down a set of 20 stairs from my parents and my sister, isolation was a word that came with a soft undertone of bitterness to it. Far enough away from other people to finally inhabit a place of my own.
My 13 year old self was facing a dilemma: grow up and adapt (high school was starting soon), or get chewed up, spit out, stepped on, grinded down, and conform into someone I didn’t want to be. As I lay awake, and as I keep welcoming sleep and as it keeps evading me, I decide to drown out the silence with music. Circa Survive’s Juturna fills the empty room.
Very rarely does an album still stay compelling after 10 years. Headspaces change, locations change, relationships change, but I am still compelled to come back to Juturna. Maybe after all these years I can finally realize that this album has painted over so many scenes from my past. Too many to name, some too painful to even turn to that page, and some so mundane that it’s not even worth mentioning. Juturna is a nostalgia filled syringe that invades me every time it begins. Juturna is a personal time capsule, a perfect scrapbook of places and events and people and thoughts and feelings, that it’s just too important to me to not give it attention.
I don’t have some crazy story about being introduced to it, (I think in the basement of my friend’s house), I don’t have some “this is it” moment that I knew that this was one of my favorite albums of all time. I have a hundred jigsaw memories that put together make a picture.
I listened to it so many times that every subtle musical nuance, every vocal inflection, every drum fill, every bent guitar string, became another memory, another word in a sentence of a paragraph that was my life on a page. I craved it at times, knowing that an album that was so ingrained in my own person, was an album that I truly knew when at times I often didn’t know myself.
At a time in my life it was the only album that made me feel something deeper than just 13 year old feelings. At a time it was the only thing keeping me together at 17 and it was the only album that I could listen to without collapsing in on myself. At 20 years of age it was an album I would scream at the top of my lungs with my friends. At 23 years old it’s now become more than an album. It’s a collective, a mural, a yearbook, a notebook, a best friend, a comfort.
Time takes its toll on you, this changes everything.
by Andy Wilcox (@wilco204)