Old songs. Old friends. You know what I mean. One Saturday afternoon, you decide to put those Tori CDs on your iPod, so you dig your CaseLogic out of your bedroom closet. As you’re flipping through the plastic pages—CDs on the front side, booklets on the back—you stumble across an album that you haven’t thought about in years.

And then you’re  in high school again. You’re taking the back road to Laura’s house just so you can roll down your windows and sing along with this one amazing song without shouting over the interstate.

You play the forgotten CD. You don’t expect anything, really, except a wave of nostalgia, but then… damn! The album is great. It isn’t just old songs. It’s old friends.

This happened to me when I tumbled back into Mercury Poise, a best-of collection from alt-rock singer/songwriter Michelle Shocked. If you know her music, then get ready to relive the dream. If you don’t, then let me introduce you to a lovely lady.

Shocked rose to moderate fame in the late 80s, riding the same wave that carried R.E.M., Suzanne Vega, and other college radio favorites. She was distinctive because she blended her singer-songwriter sound with gospel soul and Texas twang. A dispute with Mercury Records pushed her off the radar in the mid-nineties, but she has carried on as a super-indie, super-lefty troubadour. (Her latest album just got released on her website.)

I’m interested to hear her new music, but for now, these older gems are my faves:

(1) “Anchorage”

This was Shocked’s only single to chart on the Billboard Hot 100, so I guess it’s her “greatest hit.” That makes sense. It’s remarkable.

First, there’s the unique concept: Shocked gets a letter from a long-lost friend who has recently moved to Anchorage, Alaska. Shocked sings in her friend’s voice, and her lyrics are so specific that this woman feels complete. We know that she’s got a husband and two kids, and we know that in a quiet way, she is losing her sense of herself.

It’s the restraint that makes the woman’s loneliness so heartbreaking. “I sound like a housewife,” she says. “Hey Chel, I think I’m a housewife.” In the context of the song—and thanks to Shocked’s softly aching vocals—this simple statement hits hard. But what can this woman do? She’s anchored down in Anchorage. This is her life. Her only choice to fondly remember the time when she and her “punk rocker” friend were liberated.

Musically, the song’s as reserved as the friend’s sadness. It shuffles along at a pleasant mid-tempo, and it gets a bit of melancholy from some strings. That’s appropriate. Why make a loud, angry anthem about a situation you can’t change?

Of course, this is what the song means to me. The video features actual footage of Shocked’s friend and her family, and they seem pretty happy. Plus, on the video’s YouTube page, there are comments from someone claiming to be one of the kids on screen. She remembers Alaska as a lovely time.

And hey, I’ve had enough experience to know that you can miss your old life without hating your new one.

That’s  another point in “Anchorage’s” favor: It’s good enough to support multiple interpretations.

(2) “Come a Long Way”

A slow-building rocker, “Come a Long Way” is about a woman driving her motorcycle around Los Angeles. She goes 500 miles, and she doesn’t even leave the city.

This song makes me want to dance, and Shocked really wails in that last section, which is awesome. Plus, even though she’s jamming, her performance feels really laid back… like, she’s having a good time, but she’s not freaking out. That makes me assume she’s cool and that we should hang out. I like that in a singer!