Driving With the Brakes On: The Power of Music to Transport, Heal, and Transform

Last night, I sat in the O2 in Bristol with my mum and one of my sisters, watching Del Amitri. The band’s music has always carried a deep association with my dad, who passed away nearly nine years ago. He was only 60 years old, and his death was sudden, a loss that changed the course of my life. Del Amitri wasn’t just a band he listened to; their music was the soundtrack to his heartache and his unspoken emotions, particularly in the years after his separation from my mum.

As I listened to the songs live, I realised how vividly they brought back memories—not just of him but of the times we shared, the feelings I had, and the way his life impacted mine. Music has this extraordinary ability to transport us, to take us back to a moment, a place, or a person, in a way few other things can. It doesn’t just bring back the events—it brings back the emotions, the sensory details, and the meaning wrapped up in those moments.

The Lyrics That Evoke Memory

Always the Last to Know

“So you’re in love with someone else,

Someone who burns within your soul,

And it looks like I’m the last to know.”

“Always the last to know how you’re feeling,

The last to know where you are,

The last to know if you’re happy now.”

This song encapsulates how my dad must have been feeling during such a difficult time. The lyrics express the pain of feeling left out or disconnected, and of not being able to understand fully what the other person is going through.

For me, these lyrics unlocked an understanding of the emotional turmoil he must have carried—of wanting to hold on to something familiar while facing the reality of change. They also reminded me how universally human it is to feel adrift when someone we care about is moving in a direction we don’t fully grasp.

Driving With the Brakes On

“It’s hard to say you love someone, and it’s hard to say you don’t.”

“Trying to keep the mood right,

Trying to steer the conversation from the thing we’ve done.”

These words mirror the complexity of relationships and emotions—how hard it can be to express love, grief, or regret. For my dad, who wasn’t particularly expressive, music became a language of its own. Hearing this song last night brought back memories of how he processed things silently, through his music, and how much it resonated with me even as a teenager, watching him struggle to move forward.

Here and Now

“Nothing else matters but what we’ve got here and now.”

“Sometimes I could sell my soul to sit and watch you smoke.”

This song was a reminder to be present in the moment. It brought back memories of my dad sitting on his bench, smoking a cigar, and listening to music. At the time, I saw him as stuck, but now I see those moments differently. That lyric about selling your soul to sit and watch someone smoke struck me deeply. It reminded me how much we long for those seemingly ordinary moments once they’re gone.

Be My Downfall

“Be my downfall, be my grave regret,

Be the one girl that I’ll never forget,

Be my undoing, be my slow road to ruin tonight.”

This song speaks to the courage of staying in your feelings, even when they hurt. It’s about letting yourself love someone completely, even if it leads to your undoing. Last night, it reminded me of how music allows us to embrace the complexities of love, loss, and regret in ways we might not be able to articulate on our own.

The Soundtrack of My Life

Reflecting on these songs and what they meant to my dad made me realise something really special—how much music has been passed down to me as a legacy from both my parents. Music was such a constant presence in my childhood, forming the soundtrack to our lives. My mum, my sisters, and I all still listen to many of the same songs we grew up with, and they evoke not just joy and nostalgia but also connection and even sadness. And all of those emotions are important to feel.

What makes me smile is that this love of music is continuing with the next generation—not just through me but through my sisters as well. Both of them also have children, two each, and they, like my daughters, are growing up hearing the songs we all loved. My 13-year-old daughter, Mia, has her own taste in music, of course, but her Spotify playlists are full of songs I loved when I was her age—and songs my dad loved too. Even though he died when she was quite young, and my youngest daughter, Savannah, never met him, they are both being exposed to his music.

By simply playing those songs, the connection to my dad continues. It’s a reminder that even though he’s gone, his presence and his love for music live on in all of us—through me, my sisters, and our children. Knowing that MIa and Luke, and even Savannah in her own way, will carry a part of him through the music we listen to fills me with joy. It’s a reminder that even in the sadness, there’s a way to feel connected, to honor his memory, and to share the parts of him that I hold so dear.

A Life He Never Knew

This morning, as I played Del Amitri at home, Savannah—my one-year-old daughter—busied herself sticking stickers on my face and banging on pots and pans. She had no idea why I was crying or why I was playing what must have sounded like very sad music to her.

And yet, as I watched her, another wave of sadness hit me. My dad never met Savannah. He never saw this life I’ve built—a life so different from the one I had when he was still alive. He’ll never know about my remarriage, my younger daughter, stepsons or the blended family we’ve created. He’ll never know this happier, more grounded me.

But I also realised something beautiful. Even though Savannah doesn’t understand yet, she will know him through his music. The same is true for Luke, my new husband, who didn’t know my dad but is coming to know a piece of him through the music I share.

Music becomes a bridge across generations, a way of keeping someone’s presence alive even after they’re gone.

As I reflected on this, I felt a deep sense of déjà vu—almost as if I’d lived this moment before, but not in this life. It felt timeless, as though the act of honoring my dad, of reflecting on his life and passing on his music, was part of something far greater, something that stretches beyond a single lifetime.

I believe we have many lives, and with each one, we pick up where we left off, continuing our journey toward greater understanding, growth, and connection. It feels like whatever happened in a past life prepared me for this moment, enabling me to cope with this loss, to understand its meaning, and to move forward.

I don’t believe it was a coincidence that I went to that concert last night with my mum and sister. I was meant to be there. I was meant to feel the music, to reflect on my dad, to let the lyrics guide me through a new layer of grief, and to release some of the sadness I’ve carried. And in doing so, I’ve come to understand my dad—and myself—a little better.

An Invitation to Reflect

What songs form the soundtrack of your life? Are there melodies that transport you back to a moment, a person, or a feeling?

Even if you don’t comment or share, I hope this blog helps you reflect on the power of music in your own life. Music is a gift that lets us connect to ourselves, to others, and to our memories. Whether it’s a song tied to joy, heartbreak, or nostalgia, its ability to evoke emotion and meaning is unparalleled.

Perhaps it’s time to listen, to reflect, and to let those songs carry you through—wherever you need to go.