Once upon a late aughts summer, a friend and I rode our bikes around Brooklyn — a rite of passage for certain people living in said borough at the time. As we pedaled past leafy trees and brownstone walk-ups, the storybook setting prompted me to lament, “I want a Fall Boyfriend. Someone to take walks and bike rides with me, who wants to lay around and listen to music together.”
It seemed a small ask, hence my willingness to proclaim it out loud. A seasonal fling? I should at least be allowed to have that. Fairly single during my early days in NYC, I dated one subpar co-worker and participated in some fine-ish dates via the nascent dating platform OkCupid. Computer-facilitated connections seemed the best option for someone like myself — usually sober, declines most party invites, goes to bed at 10pm — so I persevered. One morning, I exchanged a couple messages with Timothy (friendly smile, ~70% match) and we planned to meet for a drink that night. Perfect timing as I was committed to the Twin Lights Bike Ride the next day, which gave me an excuse to end the night before my preferred bedtime.
We shared interests in bike rides, music, art, and spending time with our respective families. We exchanged iPods 🆒 and Timothy was impressed by Fennesz’ presence on mine. No need to disclose its recent placement by a well-informed friend. I was at least curious about Austrian ambient electronica and that counts for something.
When our date came to an end, Timothy walked me to my subway stop and gave me a peck on the lips. I returned the sentiment by joyfully exclaiming “That was a good date!” because it was, and why keep an important detail like that to oneself? Not everyone enjoys that level of indiscretion, so I was delighted when Timothy followed-up and invited me to an art gallery, then dinner, then drinks. A chilly walk around downtown streets. A bike ride. A night out with his friends. A “meet me in the last car on the D train” jaunt to Coney Island. Amidst the bustle, we found time to lay around and listen to music, often in Timothy’s tiny studio apartment on the Lower East Side.
We were typically awash in the likes of Biosphere and Boards of Canada. Mark Hollis. Arvo Pärt. Charles Mingus. Jimmy Giuffre. All of which were new to me at the time, most of which I still listen to today. There were also modern, pop-oriented albums in our rotation including two melancholy gems: Coles Corner by Richard Hawley and You & Me by the Walkmen. Timely choices, they created the kind of atmosphere one seeks as the weather grows cool and days get shorter. In retrospect, they are both filled with love, longing, and nostalgia — an idyllic soundtrack to a mildly serendipitous relationship. It was I, after all, who wished for a Fall Boyfriend.
Before I realized how intrinsically connected they were to that time of my life, I gave each album a recent listen. My chest felt full and it was hard to hold back tears (I didn’t). Maybe it’s the passage of time; that was over 15 years ago. I still viscerally remember the person I was and what she thought about, where she lived, what she loved. I remember who Timothy was too. He watched me pause vegetarianism and eat a hamburger for the first time in over a decade. He made us countless breakfasts (I’d never met someone who liked eggs that much) and brought me to Doughnut Plant even after I insisted I didn’t like doughnuts (he was correct in doing so). He was fond of waking up at 7am, going for a run together, aimlessly meandering around lower Manhattan for the day, and hitting the sack at nerd o’clock.
Of course, we didn’t know we would never be with anyone other than each other. That we’d become parents who would one day share our favorite albums with our daughter, even though she prefers Taylor Swift to most of them. But maybe in some sense we did know, and that’s why those two particular albums resonated back then and still do today
As I sat down to write this, I learned that Coles Corner was a noted meeting place for lovers in Sheffield, England. While Timothy and I had our first meeting on 14th Street in NYC, perhaps in our metaphysical universe that place was Coles Corner. I will return there to meet him, and to remember us as we were in 2008, time and again.
Have you recently listened to an album that vividly transported you to another time in your life — one that still resonates with you today? I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.
To quote the great James Hoffman, thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day.
PS: Collection of classics from 45 Essex Street
audiopheels 
Leave a comment