The Time Machine

It's a funny thing traffic.

Thousands of people, starting and finishing their day, coming together in shared frustration for a brief moment in time.

Or, if you're on Punt Road in Melbourne, not so brief.

Last fortnight I was stuck on the iconic traffic magnet at its worst. This happened because I never learn from my mistakes and I continue to believe I can beat this thing.

There was no movement ahead and I had resigned to being in my car for some time.

After waiting five minutes, there was a blissful period in which I got to take the foot off the brakes for 15 seconds. 

Yes. Almost home now.

As I made it under a passing bridge, I looked to my left and, like I usually do, studied the dozens of torn, faded, graffiti-covered posters promoting gigs around town.

Among the group was what looked more like street art than a poster. A lone white board painted on crudely with the question:

Why do you listen to music?

It piqued my interest. There wasn't much else going on in my mind – I had just enjoyed the sweet, sweet bliss of another five metres of car movement.

Apart from the obvious things – the shared experiences, the magic of live performance and the universal joy it brings – I've always thought about music as a time machine – each song unearthing a different memory from any time and place in your life and taking you right there.

With every listen, the memory can change. Some memories, featuring family, travel and women – can be more powerful and longer-lasting than others.

So, with that in mind, I threw my phone on random play and hoped to go somewhere else. 

Somewhere away from Punt Road.

Frou Frou – Let Go

I was sitting at my desk, working up the courage to quit my job. 

I hadn't typed a thing for hours. I was doing my best to look busy while reading the news and arguing with my sister on Facebook over whether or not I'd stolen her phone charger.

I definitely did take it without telling her – but that wasn't the point. The point was, I was angry that she accused me (of the thing I'd clearly done). Where was the misplaced sibling trust?

I couldn't bring myself to do anything constructive. I couldn't concentrate on anything any more – I hadn't done good work for weeks. My mind was elsewhere and nothing motivated me.

My life had stalled. I was 25 and had made some of the worst mistakes of my life.

This song started and by the time it ended, I'd made a decision. I got off my chair, walked towards my manager's office and changed things up.

Eddie Vedder – Rise 

I'm lying under a tree in Central Park by myself. It was a stinking hot day – the kind that seems to give fatter, older, awkward European men the opportunity to walk around topless. Pot bellies, grey hair and sagging man-breasts were just glistening in the sun.

Among the crowds I spotted what looked like a Buddhist monk just sitting quietly and completely still for hours. The whole world moved around him and he didn't budge.

I wondered what it would be like to shut out the world – to not notice the families, the fun and the pot bellies going on around him.

I wondered what was going through his mind.

Season four of Game of Thrones, surely.

Bon Iver - Holocene

I'm at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl.

It's a stunning autumn afternoon and a huge, beautiful crowd has assembled to see Bon Iver.

Beards and drugs are everywhere. The vibe is so peaceful, so happy. 

There's not a hint of anything but absolute love for what's happening on stage.

This song starts and you can feel the breath being taken away from the crowd.

This is one of the best shows of my life.

People are hanging on every word. Everyone is smiling. They're in the moment.

They're making a new memory.

Surprisingly, there are not that many people with a phone in front of their face. Good sign.

Half way through the song, just when you think you've reached a high point, the guy on the saxophone goes on an incredible two-minute solo. He refuses to take a breath throughout the whole thing and somehow doesn't faint. How the hell did he just do that?

When it's over, the crowd goes wild. 

I never want this night to end.

This could have been cheesy, but it wasn't - it felt like I was at a campfire.

A simple, intimate, perfect, 10,000-person campfire.

Noah and the Whale - Blue Skies

I'm on a beach in Vancouver, struggling to breathe because of the power of an intense hangover. The previous night was the stuff of legend. Sweet baby Jesus. Ouch. 

I'm slowly getting burnt as I underestimate the bite of a Canadian sun, taking in the beautiful surroundings in a world that doesn't seem real, even though I'm seeing it with my own eyes.

I'm fighting my stomach, aching for water with every fibre of my being, wondering if I'm going to make it back to the hostel. 

This song came on and lifted me out of the mire. It made me feel better. The best songs have a way of doing that – a way of making you happy, in any situation.

Frank Sinatra - Moon River

It's the beginning of a long weekend and my family is on the way to my grandparent's place in country town Wonthaggi.

Because everyone in Victoria has the same plan to escape to the coast for a mini-holiday, the traffic is absolute hell. 

It's a little like Punt Road. A little.

We're in Dad's new car - the first car the family had with a CD player - a magical wizard tool that we were fascinated with.  I still remember thinking we must have made it as a family. We were CD-player rich.

As owner and operator of the CD player mobile, Dad had control over what we listened to. 95 per cent of the time, it was the greatest hits of Frank Sinatra. Moon River always stuck with me.

I'm fighting with my brother. He's moving too much and touching my side of the chair. A criminal act on a long drive.

I complain to dad, but he's not paying attention to me at all. He can't even hear me.

We're moving 10 metres at a time and we've been on the road for two hours, but the traffic isn't bothering him. His kids aren't bothering him. There's a smile on his face. 

He's happy.

He's gone to another place.