Listening to a Dream

Not infrequently, my dreams involve city life. But they’re never in a city from my waking life, either one I’ve been to or seen images of. And they’re always very detailed, on the scale of a street scene from Blade Runner. Complex architecture, hundreds or thousands of people, hustle and bustle.

A dream I had a few days ago was in a less-traveled part of one such city. I was seated in something between a private residence and a cafe. A few scattered tables and comfy chairs, but a hallway to bedrooms in the back. The front was open to the alley/street, a few steps down. Buildings in this part of town were all a few stories tall. There was light rain, and a bit of fog. Late afternoon, almost early evening. Not much traffic, just a few bicycles and the occasional tuk-tuk (electric rather than gasoline-powered like the ones I rode in Bangkok). While at my table, I heard several songs coming from an open window above. I liked the music (no memory of the genre) and stepped out into the alley and looked up. There was an fading yellow painting of a tape cassette on the wall next to an open window where a woman was standing, music drifting from her apartment. I asked her what the music was that she was playing and she said “It’s The Silvertones, from their new release.”

Then I woke up.

The Silvertones? Years ago, I saw The Undertones when they were the warmup band for The Clash and also saw The Overtones, a short-lived Minneapolis band (not these guys who have the same name). And I may have seen The Fleshtones in the late seventies or early eighties. But The Silvertones didn’t ring a bell.

It turns out that The Silvertones are a ska and reggae band that, with a few personnel changes, has been around since 1964. Had I heard of them at some point only to have them slip into my subconsciousness? Erased from any conscious knowing, but filed somewhere back in the dusty cobwebs? Or did I simply generate a name while dreaming?

They’ve got a Pandora channel and I listened to it today while walking laps on the track at a community center. Round and round, with the grey-haired crowd, listening to Jamaican music as kids 50 years younger than me played basketball.