As usual, it finds me listening to the sort of music I used to listen to back in the day.
And that's without going into the alt/prog/experimental stuff we used to listen to. There were those in my circle who felt that if a band sold more than a dozen albums, they were irredeemable commercial sellouts.
I sometimes wonder if nostalgia is a harmless and sweet form of melancholy, or its most bitter form of all. Perhaps it flows from one into another. I recall old friends, old hopes, old dreams, good times, and a young man full of promise who had his whole life spread before him. At first it makes me smile. Then I think of a time when I had hopes, and friends, and dreams, and promise, and a life more than half over, and the smile twists like a knife in a wound.