Playlists, Nostalgia and the Carousel

I have a playlist of songs that I love the most. It has just under 1,000 tracks, and what a joy it is to play on shuffle. It’s a carousel. The way, every now and then, one song serendipitously segues into another at just the right moment and place to stir up that most underrated of emotions nostalgia. However much marketers try to commoditise it, nostalgia remains stubbornly personal. One person’s sense of deep nostalgia is evoked by the taste of home cooking from a childhood disappearing in the rearview mirror (witness cynical food critic Anton Ego in Pixar’s Ratatouille), for another it’s the stench of creosote on a garden fence, or the sound of a Factory Records 12 inch, or an old TV indent on YouTube.

As is so often the case, Milan Kundera probably explains it best. Here’s the start of the second chapter of his novel Ignorance:

The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return. To express that fundamental notion most Europeans can utilize a word derived from the Greek (nostalgia, nostalgie) as well as other words with roots in their national languages: añoranza, say the Spaniards; saudade, say the Portuguese. In each language these words have a different semantic nuance. Often they mean only the sadness caused by the impossibility of returning to one’s country: a longing for country, for home. What in English is called “homesickness.” Or in German: Heimweh. In Dutch: heimwee. But this reduces that great notion to just its spatial element. One of the oldest European languages, Icelandic (like English) makes a distinction between two terms: söknuour: nostalgia in its general sense; and heimprá: longing for the homeland. Czechs have the Greek-derived nostalgie as well as their own noun, stesk, and their own verb; the most moving, Czech expression of love: styska se mi po tobe (“I yearn for you,” “I’m nostalgic for you”; “I cannot bear the pain of your absence”). In Spanish añoranza comes from the verb añorar (to feel nostalgia), which comes from the Catalan enyorar, itself derived from the Latin word ignorare (to be unaware of, not know, not experience; to lack or miss), In that etymological light nostalgia seems something like the pain of ignorance, of not knowing. You are far away, and I don’t know what has become of you. My country is far away, and I don’t know what is happening there. Certain languages have problems with nostalgia: the French can only express it by the noun from the Greek root, and have no verb for it; they can say Je m’ennuie de toi (I miss you), but the word s’ennuyer is weak, cold — anyhow too light for so grave a feeling. The Germans rarely use the Greek-derived term Nostalgie, and tend to say Sehnsucht in speaking of the desire for an absent thing. But Sehnsucht can refer both to something that has existed and to something that has never existed (a new adventure), and therefore it does not necessarily imply the nostos idea; to include in Sehnsucht the obsession with returning would require adding a complementary phrase: Sehnsucht nach der Vergangenheit, nach der verlorenen Kindheit, nach der ersten Liebe (longing for the past, for lost childhood, for a first love).

Playlists, Nostalgia and the Carousel

One thought on “Playlists, Nostalgia and the Carousel

  1. amanda says:

    So… never one to resist taking a relatively simple idea somewhere deep and impenetrable, I could not help but make the link between this very interesting post and something I was wrestling with in my own work…

    Jeanne de Saltzmann who wrote an amazing book about her experiences of modern day mystic George I Gurdjieffs largely impenetrable ideas on human reality, opens her seminal work with a powerful statement of our predicament. as a race.. , which is this:

    “We are asleep and wish to awaken…”

    She goes on to describe how this wish is recognised as a powerful “feeling of nostalgia – for a way of being..we cannot quite remember”

    “Man remains a mystery to himself. He has a nostalgia for Being, a longing for duration, for permanence, for absoluteness – a longing to be… Yet everything that constitutes his life is temporary, ephemeral, limited. He aspires to another order, another life, a world that is beyond him. He senses that he is meant to participate in it.

    He searches for an idea, an inspiration, that could move him in this direction. it arises as a question – who am I – who am I in this world?

    He cannot answer. He has nothing with which to answer – no knowledge of himself to face this question, no knowledge of his own. But he feels he must welcome it. He asks himself who he is. That is the first step on the way. He wants to open his eyes. He wants to wake up, to awaken…

    When I read the words, and more powerfully watched the clip you posted – it reminded me of this quote straight away… I made me think that we crave things we do not understand – like stuff we buy or do – because a deeper place has been disturbed – where we remember something we are supposed to do or be that we forgot about. And for that moment of being reminded we awaken and experience the shock of the emptiness we feel – and react.

    I am amazed by this insight in terms of advertising – wow of course it taps into this – creates that itch – but maybe it also awakens a feeling for something much more important to us, something that could really change our lives…

    deep I know, but thought I would throw it in for good measure all the same

    thanks for the prompt – really made me think!


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