Music has the power to open up our realities. It doesn’t magically take us somewhere else but transforms the places we are already in into something greater, wider and more expansive. The right song at the right moment can guide us toward a new perspective on something familiar, refining our focus to notice details we otherwise would not. It feels like most songs lose this power after enough listens, but Billy Joel’s “Vienna” is the exception for me. The opening piano chords instantly draw me in, capture my attention and bring me back to the present moment.
Although I now listen to “Vienna” and other Joel songs willingly, I grew up a forced fan via my dad’s obsession with The Cordells. This song and others, like “Piano Man” and “Only the Good Die Young,” take me back to Pacific coast road trips with my family, following the road signs and watching as the ocean came in and out of view from the backseat of our Chevrolet Tahoe. My dad claimed it was the 16-ounce can of Pepsi and Nutter Butter minis that kept him awake for the drive, but I think it was the shifting melodies of “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” that really did the trick.
Once I was old enough to graduate to the front seat of our car, with all the excitement of finally having the power over the aux to choose the music, I found myself going back to the same song that my dad would always play. Listening to “Vienna” became a must-do for my dad and I’s annual pre-Thanksgiving grocery run to our local deli and farmer’s market. The strong piano chords had the power to transform the familiar drive from our house to Lazy Acres into a reflective experience, helping me zoom out and think about where I was in life, what was worrying me, and what I was dreaming about. And the song’s melodies had the same effect on my dad. Without fail, he would use the song as an excuse to let me know how proud he was of me. And to remind me that my experiences, both good and bad, were shaping my character. As he always says, I was on “the journey of who I was and who I was to become.”
“Vienna” took on a new meaning for me during my freshman year of college. I would listen to it while I was homesick, along with a string of other Joel, Elton John and Greenday songs compiled in a Spotify playlist titled “Cordell and Suburbia.” Throughout my time at Fordham University so far, it has become the anthem of special times spent with friends, of moments that instantly become memories (like riding the ferry from Battery Park to Staten Island at sunset, staying up too late talking in our dorms and playing games on the bus to different schools for our volleyball games). I associate the song with deep experiences of connection and an appreciation for the wildness contained within life. For me, “Vienna” represents the times that take me out of my everyday routine and help me enter into the deeper reality that is always present right before me but is sometimes difficult to access because of small pressures that build up over time.
The more time passes, the more relevant this song seems to be. It reminds me of where I came from and inspires me to form a clearer vision of where I’m going. But it also reminds me that it’s okay if I don’t quite know where I’m going. “Slow down, you crazy child.” Your dreams and goals will always be there, but the present is only happening right now. If you’re not here now, you won’t be there when your dreams come true, when (or if) that moment comes. “Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true.” This song reminds me of the importance of chasing my dreams, appreciating the little moments along the way and savoring memories with the people who will have my back even if my dreams don’t come true.
