My closest memory to the cusp of Covid is a long night at The Sun Tavern. One of my favourite bars on Earth, my “local” for the last four years I lived in Whitechapel. The site of late-night laughs, hazy heart-to-hearts, sweaty dancing in crowded corners.
My Google Calendar tells me the date was 20 March 2020. There was an odd desperation in the air at The Sun that night, like everyone felt that this could be the last normal Saturday night for a bit. The government had warned us that some sort of virus was making its way to the UK. Chris and I marvelled at the novelty of working from home for a week or two. Heck, I had left food in the fridge and my desk drawers at the office. Obviously, world events unfolded in a much more serious way, but I don’t need to go over that here.
As those initial weeks stretched to a month, and panic creeped in, I did what I have always done. I processed my feelings through music: catharsis through playlists. Who knew there were so many thematically, even ironically, appropriate songs for a pandemic?! I shared this first playlist with friends, in the hopes of instilling joy, laughter, strength, maybe even encouraging dancing on one’s own. We couldn’t have nights at The Sun Tavern, we didn’t have live music, but we still had each other, albeit at a distance and amidst great uncertainty.
I try not to think a lot about that first lockdown. I recall the uncharacteristic spring warmth and sunshine, reading in the garden, exercising solo in Weaver’s Fields, seeing friends between fences or meeting sneakily in parks after dark. I hate to relive the strangeness and sadness of outdoor queues for the supermarket, aisles of empty shelves, and the fearful frustration from the check-out clerks in PPE. Needless to say, the many benefits of music – especially music experienced in a group setting – were in short supply then. It was only four years ago, but it feels like a decade, because of how it aged us.
I listen back now to remember who/where/how I was then, to laugh at the unpredictability and absurdity of that time, to cherish the home that I had and the friendship bubbles I formed. I suppose this is a soundtrack to the forced lack of adventure. Music provided an anchor whilst the world was on edge. May the latter never happen again.
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I love the sun tavern.