I can say with some level of certainty that the very first song I ever heard was a Hindu bajan, or religious song, sung by legend Jagjit Singh called Om Anandmayi Chaitanyamayi. I know this because several of my retro VHS baby videos have this song playing in the background. Every time I listen to this song now, I feel this strange connection to it, like it's drawing be back to my childhood, to early Saturday mornings being woken up by the tune. It makes me feel warm, spiritual. I still don't know exactly what the words mean, but I can sing the lyrics verbatim. I have some incredibly fond memories with this song and it's special.

After that, I'm about 98% sure that the first English song I ever heard was I Believe I Can Fly by R. Kelly. (I absolutely just looked that up, because I did not know it was by R. Kelly.) I just remember as a kid, I would always beg to hear this song, but I had no idea how to listen to it--probably because it was on the radio and they didn't endlessly over-play songs back then. Anyway, I would beg my dad to play it for me, singing a few lines for him so he'd know exactly what song I meant. I still have no idea how he would get it up for me (was YouTube around back then?). It was the grainiest quality when he would finally get it to play, but it was beautiful. I would always close my eyes and sway to the music. I remember for some reason wanting to cry when I listened to it. R. Kelly had me swooning from Day 1, literally. I didn't understand, probably didn't even listen to, the lyrics beyond the chorus, but I just loved the tune of the song so much. Still do. Tastes evolve, but they never really change.

The next song that stands out in my childhood is 1,2,3,4 by the Plain White T's. When the song first came out, I was 8 years old. (I looked that up, too. I thought I was much younger.) I distinctly remember the first time I heard it. I was in the basement of a friend's house at a family party. The lights were dimmed in that damp basement kind of way, and we were having a little dance party. The two oldest girls, probably in high school, were sharing their music with us, because they were very seasoned, hardcore music veterans and we were tune-virgins. They had a boombox type thing sitting on top of the washing machine. I think one had her iPod plugged in. She put on this song and told us all to really listen to it, to listen to the words. I'd never really done that with music before, so I listened. I picked up on the 1,2,3,4 thing and I was mind-blown. This was turn of the century linguistics, this was cutting-edge poetry. "There's only 1 thing, 2 do, got 3 words, 4 you... I love you." I memorized the lyrics, the melody. That was the first song I remember really understanding, connecting to on more than just a tune I liked. It still makes me feel that way. It's not cheesy, like it should be, according to my current tastes. I’m a nostalgic person, and memories for me hold a much higher precedence than fads.

With music especially, I remember the song, but I also remember the way it made me feel the first time I heard it. That’s why I don’t care about the language of the song, I don’t care about the “genre” or who it’s by. I care about the music. It’s such an emotionally oriented thing, which I think is the beauty of what music does. It makes you feel before it makes you think. It gives you a gut feeling before it gives you anything else. The really good music does, at least.

Music shouldn’t be something that people abuse, where people just write songs with whatever nonsense rhyming lyrics and whatever combination of previously successful beats and instruments—just to get record sells. That’s the problem with the pop music out there. It doesn’t mean anything because it doesn’t make you feel anything except the urge to grind on the person next to you. That’s not music.

When you hear a song that pulls on a cord in your stomach, that makes your feet tingle, that makes your eyes heavy—that is when you’ve heard good music. That’s when you’ll know. The search for authentic music, like authentic happiness, continues.