I wrote this in response to a Desert Island Discs task on the memoir writing course I’m doing. I was mulling over writing about Tapestry, Stevie Wonder’s Hotter than July or Supertramp’s Breakfast in America. And then I was scrolling through the channels on Saturday night and spotted the Carole King ‘Natural Woman’ documentary playing on BBC2. I took it as a sign.

I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumblin’ down
I feel my heart start to tremblin’
Whenever you’re around
I feel the earth move, Tapestry, Carole King

Oh, those opening chords. They get me every time. I can’t hear them and not smile. A slow, lazy smile of recognition and ease. Because the thing about Tapestry is that it’s more than a piece of music. It’s an old friend.

It’s a friend that’s been around for years, a constant thread winding through my life. I remember our family album so clearly, the needle jumping a few bars into ‘I feel the earth move’ and again on ‘Home Again’. Waiting for the needle drop. Then the pause as I flip from Side 1 to Side 2. It’s a reminder to slow down. Take a breath.  

Tapestry has always been a reassuring presence, especially when life away from the vinyl was chaotic. The lyrics taking on different meaning, the melody reaching something deep within me.

The upbeat ‘I feel the earth’ contrasting sharply with the poignancy of ‘So far away’. Lyrics which spoke to my fragile teen heart, echoing the isolation I felt, living in a tiny village, miles from anything or anyone. And then decades later as an adult, taking on a different meaning after losing mum and dad just months apart.

So far away
Doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore?
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
Doesn’t help to know
You’re just time away

In a sense Tapestry sums up what music means to me. It’s visceral. An emotional release. It connects me with the people who are most important to me. My family. My parents, mum especially. No longer here physically but feeling her presence through the music.

All of which sounds so melancholy. Maybe it is and maybe that’s ok? Maybe I need the music, Tapestry especially to let me know it’s ok to pause, to reflect. To take a moment. To unlock the emotions.