IT'S NOT MUSIC, IT'S MEMORIES.

He said he didn't like music? Music?? He's not the cool flavour of contrarian, he's missing the point.

Today I met a guy who said he didn't like music.

At first, I was confused. Then I got mad.

Not the "we can't be friends" mad, but genuinely perplexed-to-the-point-of-anger mad. He shrugged and said, "I just don't really get into it." As if music were optional. As if songs were just background noise. Fluff. Audio throw pillows.

Music isn't just sound. Music is memories.

When Fan-Tas-Tic, Vol. 2 by Slum Village starts, I’m back on the top deck of the 271 bus. I’m in a School blazer two sizes too big because - Mum. I’m headed to Central Foundation boys School, and the stink of Cocoa butter and Lynx Africa body spray announce my arrival from the stairwell.

My Walkman chews tapes, but today its playing ball. I’ve popped in two new AA batteries, so my crappy Argos-bought headphones loudly leak Jay Dilla production and I can’t help but rap along to every bar on track five - “Climax”.

Memories.

People who "don't like music" think they're the coolest flavour of contrarian. They believe they’re avoiding the trivial, when in actuality - they’re missing the point. They’re missing a magic trick. Music is a hack in the game of bottling moments. A preservation agent for magic that would otherwise evaporate.

They're saying no to emotional teleportation.

When I hear “Too Late Baby” by Carole King, I’m 21 again and driving a Yellow Ford Mustang along route 66 as the sun sets. I’m unlocking the power of the right song at the right time. I’m learning that some songs just sound better in California…

For what it’s worth, I’m neither ends of the music weirdo spectrum. I’m not the record shop snob who refuses to engage unless you know the difference between Aphex Twin and Squarepusher hi-hat sequencing. I’m definitely not the ‘High Fidelity’ caricature perfectly played by Jack black, swapping out Belle and Sebastian to shake ass to “Walking on Sunshine”. I’m somewhere in the middle.

I’m here for the high and low. Hammer pants AND Donny Hathaway deep cuts.

I made mixtapes on actual tapes. I made mixtapes for her. 60-minute TDKs with songs to make her laugh, songs she hated herself for liking. Silly songs followed by carefully chosen songs, to let her know I wasn’t like the other boys… I made mixtapes that never needed artwork, because the sequencing was flawless. Apparently.

The songs were never songs, they were bookmarks and post its. The weight of a heartbreak, the end of a perfect summer - that final watery bit of a Calippo...

That first holiday with the boys at seventeen, when DJ EZ dropped “intro 6” and I lost my voice from screaming. Neil passed away too young, I haven’t seen the others in years, but that song, that holiday, those friends at that time – perfection.

So no, I don't just "like music." Music makes my life make sense. Songs shuffle feelings into folders I can access and understand through a different pair of ears in a very different time. Pressing play puts me in different shoes, with different hopes and ideals.

When you say you don't like music, you're telling me you’re willing to let the memories fade. You’re fine with people, places, feelings, moments falling away.

And yeah, that makes me a little mad sad…

Because it's not music.

It's memories.