So I recently flew back to Minneapolis from Tucson by myself, and I have to say it was an incredible experience to see the Sonoran desert drop away into the sunset against the backdrop of Jim Croce's I Got A Name. Later in the flight we were out over the nighttime lights of Denver and the other front range cities while I enjoyed some Sturgill Simpson and some Old Crow Medicine Show.
I've been lucky enough to fly a decent amount in recent years, which has been great. It's really allowed me to expand on my flight soundtracking. For instance, I've learned that if you start Lamb's Gorecki once you taxi away from the gate, just after they've gone through the safety card, it will take you on an almost choreographed journey through takeoff and up to about ten thousand feet before it's over. The song was made for air travel. Going to Boston for work, I've enjoyed starting The Pogues' The Body of an American as we get into our final approach to Logan. It wails along through the decscent and landing, and then it has that long slow coda while we taxi to the gate.
This might be the single most privileged thing I've ever admitted to, but I love accidentally curating playlists for flights. I mean, we've all seen the Mad Men episode where Don sits in the ascending plane while The Tornadoes' Telstar plays over the end credits. But truly, what a spectacular thing it is to take off just after sunset and watch the sky darken outside over orange cloud tops as you climb into the inky black and hear Paul Simon's Born at the Right Time while the Earth curves away below you. Or to follow the Mississippi down to New Orleans with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band blaring I'll Fly Away through your auditory complex. When you're a kid they don't tell you this is part of your reward for growing up. There are so many wonderful experiences that you just never hear about until you have them, and air travel with noise-cancelling headphones is one of the more magical.
My wife downloads shows and movies on Netflix to watch in flight. I cannot do this. I am a nervous flyer and have always needed to sit, staring out the window, with a couple gins and tonic to stay sane, so I can't watch anything on a screen. I don't know if it's the visual connection to the Earth, but I prefer to watch the ground and listen to music while in the air.
Of course, over most of the country you can look out from thirty-five plus thousand feet and hear any music in a whole new light, but certain catalogs lend themselves really well to air travel. Pretty much everything New Order ever recorded counts in this category, as does the entire discography of Booker T and the MGs. However, timing is relevant, too. Nothing beats looking out of a redeye flight onto a moon that's close to full over the snow-covered Great Plains with Blind Faith's Can't Find My Way Home playing in the background.
My soundtracking seems also to usually involve unlikely cover versions of songs - maybe it's because you're literally looking at the world from a new perspective, but it is a great time to hear someone else give their version of an old favorite. I love California Dreaming, but for some reason on the landing approach I prefer hearing the version from Jose Feliciano. One of my favorite covers of all time, Yo La Tengo's version of The Cure's Friday I'm in Love, sounds excellent no matter what you're looking down over.
The advanced lesson here though is that certain flightpaths and landmarks are also truly enhanced by specific tracks.
I love flying from Mpls to Chicago's Midway airport, mainly because it's like a 90 minute flight, but also because the approach to MDW is great. It's an urban airport, but there are so many suburban culs-de-sac on the initial descent that, from above, remind me of Keith Harring figures. It also takes really well to whatever John Hughes era cinematic 80s jams I have going on.
Flying into Seattle is a trip - you start out in this sunlit utopia with Ranier to your front left, and then you descend through the top layer of floof clouds to reveal there's a writhing layer of harder, meaner clouds several thousand feet below. Only after you get through that lower layer do you see how far below you the city and its life and vibrance still are. If you really want a mindfuck, listen to Such Great Heights by the Postal Service (or better yet The New Standards' cover of it ) on full blast while this all takes place.
DC for me is a strange call because from above you really see how close it is to both the hills and the low country. Of course the obvious (and correct) choice is CCR's Fortunate Son, but if you don't want to get overly political any old Appalachian country music will do - or better yet, find yourself Will the Circle Be Unbroken from the Nitty Gritty Dirtband's 1972 effort to bring the generations of Americana together. Though I did also once land at Reagan with the full dueling banjoes track from Deliverance wailing in my ears and it just felt somehow right.
Some of course are obvious - I shouldn't even have to say that flying into Las Vegas you should always be listening to someone who either currently or has in the past had a residential gig on the strip, and when landing at JFK, one needs to have a mixture of old Rat Pack nostalgia and A Tribe Called Quest churning in the earbuds.
Alternately though, part of the magic of flight music is opportunistic. We flew into San Diego a few winters ago, and while passing over the grand canyon with the sun rising I happened to find Way Out There by the Sons of the Pioneers, and it was a transformative experience. Flying back from Boston last Fall, while careening over southern Ontario, I had Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 come up in my earbuds unexpectedly, and with the wispy high clouds moving in the opposite direction over the autumnal brown patchwork of pastoral farmland, I truly felt a connection with the Kappelmeister. Coming into Memphis, I enjoyed hearing Hold On by the James Hunter Six in our small (2X2 seater) plane downriver. And the Atlanta skyline was beautiful on the horizon as we approached with Tom Petty's American Girl ringing in my ears.
All of which is to say, sometimes the music I hear above a place informs my memories of it. Even if I never land there. So at sundown, when you can see a plane in the sky only by virtue of its reflection, and then suddenly the sun drops far enough below the horizon to stop reflecting off it, but it's too far away to actually see so it just looks like it disappeared... ..remember.. ...someone on that plane is listening to Tears for Fears and looking down at your city.
