Over a Candle

Earlier this week I got a notice from an online retailer that Enya has a new album out. So this morning I downloaded And Winter Came and have been listening to it much of the day. It seemed like a natural purchase for me, since it is clearly a winter album (based on the title of the album and several tracks).

Earlier this year, I posted about listening to Enya’s first album during my freshman year of college. That album still haunts me. I mention it because I hear echoes of that album here in her latest effort.

Certainly the first, eponymous track is a ethereal opening to And Winter Came. Indeed, it sounds like it could have come straight from that first album. Slow and haunting, a quiet, largely instrumental work, with wordless vocals layered into the music. And while the second song, “The Journey of Angels,” has a more standard set of lyrics than her earliest work, it also maintains that otherworldliness that I expect from Enya.

But this is not simply a rehash of old efforts. While the ethereal quality to the music is maintained throughout, there is a joy and liveliness here evident in a number of the tracks. “White is in the Winter Night” is actually catchy, with a simple and earnest rhythm to it. This is true for several other songs as well, with “Trains and winter rains” and “My My Time Flies” as worthy of particular attention.

Her version of the traditional “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” is somber and beautiful, exactly how I love to hear the song performed. And I appreciate the inclusion of “Oiche chiuin” (“silent night”), even though she released the track on an EP years ago. It belongs amongst these songs.

Those are the only two traditional tracks on this album for the season. But many of the songs clearly draw inspiration from other traditional carols. For example, “The journey of the Angels” seems drawn from “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” though a much quieter version. And “One Toy Soldier” seems to be inspired from “The Little Drummer Boy.” But these are new songs, that stand on their own, and not simply new versions of old songs.

This is a really pretty album. And it’s just the sort of thing I would hope for from Enya in a winter album. If you like this season at all, and you have ever liked any of Enya’s music, this is a wonderful album, perfectly timed.

I’ve said before that music is a really important part of my life. Some songs are intimately connected to certain people. “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor will always make me cry, for instance. Widespread Panic’s “Coconuts” will always make me think of Thane. (There are lots of songs that will make me think of Thane, but that one stands out.) “One of These Days” by Pink Floyd will always remind me of… Well, best not go into that. The entirety of Police’s Synchronicity album will always remind me of a contest of wills, sort of, between John and I our junior year of college.

Funny story, that. John, my roommate, had a continuous play tape deck. One of us put in Synchronicity, and we let it play. A few days later, we realized it was still playing. (We slept with music on, when we slept at all.) So we decided to see who would be the first to change it. The tape played for 34 days. Actually, it played for 35 days, but the last 24 hours or so, we were listening to a CD instead, even though the tape was still running through the machine. A year later, when we put the tape back in, it still played. I don’t know what the tape was made out of, but it wasn’t warped at all.

Yesterday, I conceived a desire to listen to Enya. I hadn’t listened to her in quite some time. So today, in the office, I decided it would be good music on in the background while I did work. I started listening to her first album, which was self-titled. (It has since been rereleased as The Celts, but my copy just says Enya.) As soon as the first notes came out, I was transported backwards in time 18 years ago. That’s half my life ago.

I would go to sleep in my dorm room my freshman year of college listening to Enya. I would usually go to sleep around six at night. I would sleep for maybe four or five hours. Then I would get up, and be up for the rest of the night, doing homework, playing cards, and generally being completely irresponsible.

The room, at 10 o’clock, was always dark. This soft, almost eerie music playing. I would drag myself out of bed because I knew there was a euchre game going on I had to get in on. (There always was that year.) And I wanted to be up and out of the room before my roommate came in and went to bed.

This haunting music was always the first thing I heard when I came back to consciousness that semester. It was… an odd time. I can still remember the other-worldly feel of waking up at night, ready to actually do something. But despite knowing there were bright lights, cards, and friends beyond that dorm room door, there were these few minutes of feeling like I was somewhere else. Somewhen else.

Listening to this album again today, I remember those nights vividly. That feeling of first waking up, hearing those soft notes, that distant voice. Calling me to… to something. I don’t know what. But to something. To somewhere.

Then, recharged with my four hours of sleep for the day, I was off, ignoring that call, determined to screw around as long as possible before I had to do my homework, usually after everyone else went to bed.

I paid dearly for that sleep cycle during the winter break. I came down with mono and finally caught up on sleep. I had to. I slept for nearly three weeks straight over Christmas and New Year’s.

18 years later, and I still know what all of that feels like, simply by listening to one album.

At the time, I had no idea what was in store for me.