Part One: Where It All Began

This is the first part in a series where I will be retracing my musical journey as an avid lover of music. I will try to remember as much as I can, but it will definitely highlight only those that I associate a core memory with.

Late 80s to Mid 90s

I’ve loved music for as long as I can remember.

Certain melodies didn’t just entertain me — they stayed with me. They shaped how I felt, how I thought, and in some ways, who I became.

I’m 43 now, and when I look back, that connection to music has always been there. This is the first part of my musical journey — the years where it all started to make sense.

Tears for Fears: The First Connection

The earliest memory of me loving a song so much was singing to my grandma the song "From a Distance" by Bette Midler. I got teased so much by my brother back then that I stopped singing and questioned my taste in music. I did end up singing again, fronting for a few bands, even, but that's another story for another time.

The earliest band I can confidently say I was a fan of was Tears for Fears.

Their song “Sowing the Seeds of Love” sits firmly in my personal category of songs that changed me for the better. It was bold, melodic, and emotionally rich in a way that felt different to most of what surrounded me at the time.

Tears for Fears were never just a pop band. Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith were heavily influenced by psychology — even the band name comes from primal therapy. That depth showed in their music. It wasn’t afraid to be political, emotional, or introspective.

Over time, I came to love many of their songs, but “Woman in Chains” stands above the rest for me.

That song shaped me as a human being.

I grew up with three sisters, and by the time I was 13, I became the legal guardian to all three. “Woman in Chains” isn’t subtle. It’s about empathy, inequality, and emotional responsibility. Looking back, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the song resonated so deeply with me.

Nirvana, MTV, and the Shock of Grunge

Then came Nirvana — and with them, MTV properly entered my life.

We’re now at the start of the 90s. Grunge had officially landed.

To the ears of a young boy raised mostly on pop-rock, Nirvana sounded harsh. Unpolished. Almost confrontational. And that’s exactly why it hit so hard.

It was a revelation.

Suddenly, music could be messy. Loud. Uncomfortable. Honest in a way I didn’t know I needed. It scratched an itch I didn’t even know existed.

Nirvana didn’t just change music — they changed the culture around it. They made vulnerability loud. They made alienation visible. And they proved that you didn’t need perfection to make something meaningful.

Metal Was There — Just Out of Reach

Around the same time, bands like Metallica, Slayer, and Megadeth were gaining serious momentum.

But access mattered.

Metal lived on the fringes back then. MTV only really played it during Headbanger’s Ball, usually in the early hours of the morning. Radio wasn’t much better. So while the seeds were planted, I mostly had to settle for Grunge.

In hindsight, that wasn’t a bad thing at all.

Pearl Jam and a Core Memory

If I’m honest, Nirvana didn’t hold the top spot for me during the Grunge years.

That honour belongs to Pearl Jam.

The song that cemented them in my heart forever was “Jeremy”.

Looking back now, I can say without hesitation — it was a core memory.

The song itself was haunting, but the 1993 MTV Awards performance took it to another level. Pearl Jam performed “Jeremy” live and walked away with four awards that night.

That moment tattooed them into my musical identity — and yes, that’s a deliberate nod to “Black”.

“Black” and the Beauty of Shared Misery

“Black” sits in the highest tier of my personal playlist.

Even now, I still return to it.

It’s bleak. It’s devastating. And somehow, it’s comforting.

There’s something profoundly human about shared misery — a deceptively beautiful, quietly tragic feeling. Pearl Jam captured that perfectly. Eddie Vedder’s delivery wasn’t performative. It was raw, restrained, and deeply personal.

That emotional honesty planted a seed in me.

At the time, I didn’t realise it. But that seed would go on to shape my musical taste in a major way in the years that followed.

That, however, is a story for another day.