Life in 10 Tracks with Raquel Medina-Cleghorn
Life in 10 Tracks is a feature series that is all about being injected into a moment in someone’s life through music. In it, passersby reminisce on the tracks that remind them of bad haircuts, breakups, and all of the joyful, poignant moments in between.
Esthetician Raquel Medina-Cleghorn’s music preferences have traced her journey from San Diego to Portland back to San Diego to her eventual arrival in New York, with early interests in punk giving way to a love of electroclash and shoegaze. Today, she’s kept busy by her Tribeca-based skincare hub Raquel New York. Here, she shares the songs associated with some of her strongest memories, from rebellious hair-spiking makeovers with her childhood best friend all the way to her wedding day.
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This was my first favorite song. I can vividly remember the opaque, beige-y white cassette tape with black writing. I’d click it into my big grey metal boom box, snap the door shut, and rewind back to the beginning of this track over and over again. I made up dances to the sweeping synths and mysterious guttural grunts. Most dances were punctuated by the bootleg ribbon dancer I made by tying long ribbons onto a battered metallic blue cheerleading baton. I never cheered, so I’m not sure where it came from, but it sure came in handy while the rhythm got me.
“Rhythm Is Gonna Get You” by Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine / Listen to the album Let It Loose (Sony Music Entertainment Inc., 1987)
Growing up, my family would take lots of long car rides — two hours to Mexicali to see my dad’s family, a few hours to the mountains to go camping, maybe up to LA or Palm Springs to see some family friends. The soundtrack to nearly every car ride was a mix of NPR and Steely Dan. I hated this music at first — it took me probably 17 years of listening to Donald Fagen to appreciate him. But once I came around, Can’t Buy a Thrill became one of my favorite records.
“Do It Again” by Steely Dan / Listen to the album Can’t Buy A Thrill (Geffen Records, 1972)
When I was 15, I met a crusty punk named Happy, and he introduced me to punk rock. He would lend me records, mostly 7” from local crust bands. I co-opted my parents’ record player until I got my own suitcase record player for Christmas. He also loaned me records by the Dead Kennedys — Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables and Plastic Surgery Disasters. My best friend Rachel and I would rifle through her parents’ vinyl collection, too — they had less hippie tastes than my parents and had some classic punk records we’d play over and over, memorizing all the lyrics. This song is so different from the classic DK sound — the melody makes it sound quite beautiful until you listen to the lyrics.
“Moon Over Marin” by Dead Kennedys / Listen to the album Plastic Surgery Disasters (Decay Music, 1982)
Op Ivy was one of those deep obsessions. It wasn’t the “most punk” record I listened to, but it was one of my absolute favorites. I had every sound memorized, every breath and intonation committed to memory. Rachel and I would spend hours together after school with this record, testing different substances to get my long hair to stay in liberty spikes, testing substances to alter our consciousness, testing our parents’ boundaries. Once she got her license, we’d cruise to the mall and sing these songs at the top of our lungs, in between bites of our In-N-Out grilled cheeses.
“Sound System” by Operation Ivy / Listen to the album Operation Ivy (Epitaph, 1989)
When I was really little, my favorite radio station was K-Best 95, which played oldies. In 2002, the station flipped to Alternative Rock, and it became my favorite once again, thanks to Swami Sound System. The show was hosted by John Reis, who has long been an influential figure in the San Diego music scene. Religiously, on Sunday nights I’d tune the dial to 94.9 FM to hear what magic The Swami was conjuring. I remember being mesmerized by this ten-minute post-punk, proto-grunge epic by a band I’d never heard of called Wipers. I was really into The Velvet Underground at the time, and this song reminded me of all of my favorite parts of their music, but more desperate. The Swami selected such an eclectic mix of music that really expanded my taste and remains some of my most essential tracks today.
“Youth of America” by Wipers / Listen to the album Youth of America (Zenorecords, 1981)
The early 2000s were wild. There was the post-punk revival and the rise of electroclash, and the way those two scenes converged was intoxicating. I was still too young to be going out to clubs at this time, but I collected club flyers for all the electroclash nights and collaged them on my bedroom door to feel like I was participating. Bands like The Rapture, Le Tigre, and Whirlwind Heat were my gateway to dance music. There was enough rock influence to transition from the hardcore punk I was into, and it was electronic enough to convert me once the movie Party Monster came out. The soundtrack took over my queue.
“Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks” by The Rapture / Listen to the album Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks (Sub Pop Records, 2001)
In 2004, in a crisis of teenage independence, I packed up my life and moved up to Portland, Oregon. I was 18 and no one could stop me. Armed with a really convincing fake ID — the ID was real, it just wasn’t mine — I spent my nights at Tube Bar, knocking back Raspberry Stoli and sodas, as if that didn’t give away my age. I befriended a DJ named Nathan, and soon we were dating and completely inseparable. He put on other nights at clubs like The Dunes and Holoscene, and not going simply wasn’t an option. Everyone was there and we’d dance all night, closing the bars down before continuing to an afters at someone’s grungy loft or a high school gym we somehow had access to (?). Every time I hear this song I’m transported back to that time and that feeling of total freedom.
“Heartbeats” by The Knife / Listen to the album Deep Cuts (Rabid Records, 2003)
When I moved back to San Diego a year later, I became friends with a woman named Maria. She was about 10 years older than me and had lived in New York, working in production and fashion, and she was very wise and worldly. She took me under her wing and gave me the type of advice you’d want from a big sister or cool older cousin. I remember her playing this song and saying it was first wedding dance vibes. A lot of things she said to me over the years have been imprinted into my brain. She’s the person who convinced me to move to NYC a couple years later, helped me get my first job here, let me crash with her for a month after a break up, and just taught me things about life, friendship, and adulthood in general.
“This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)” by Talking Heads / Listen to the album Speaking in Tongues (Sire Records Company, 1983)
2008 was the last year I went to Coachella. My friend Andre had worked for Goldenvoice and would give me wristbands, so I got to go a few times in the “good old days.” This year was a last-minute invite, but my friend Amanda was always up for a good/weird time, so off we went. Prince headlined the second night. He waited until the entire polo field was dark and every person at the grounds had to be watching him before he took to the stage. The mushroom chocolates Amanda and I had eaten were just starting to take effect as the purple stage lights began to rise and the sound of Sheila E.’s drums reverberated through the desert. He played all the hits, but the most memorable was his cover of Radiohead’s “Creep.” That’s the only time I saw Prince play, and I feel so lucky to have been in the audience that night.
“Creep” (Coachella 2008 Performance) by Prince
The memory association I have with this song is easily the strongest. I had gotten into Cocteau Twins around 2012 or so, introduced by my friend Bryson. I already liked shoegaze, but the glossolalia of Elizabeth Fraser’s singing felt so magical and otherworldly. When my husband John and I were planning our wedding last summer, we knew music had to play a large part in it, and we chose this song for my walk down the aisle. We have no idea what lyrics she’s singing, or the meaning behind the song, but their music is all about the feeling and I can’t think of anything more romantic than these sounds. A few months before the wedding, John’s friend Joe was in town from London. We went to dinner at some random pizza place in midtown and asked Joe to do a reading. He accepted, and in conversation asked what song I was walking down the aisle to. I just told him it would be by the Cocteau Twins. A little while later, this song came on and we all remarked how unusual it was in that setting and that we had just been talking about them. I had already selected this track, but the coincidence of hearing it while meeting one of John’s oldest friends made it all feel kismet and connected.
“Cherry-coloured Funk” by Cocteau Twins / Listen to the album Heaven or Las Vegas (4AD Ltd, 1990)
words and images provided by raquel medina-cleghorn, edited by sammy case