As I stumbled across the quad, he took swigs of vodka from a Listerine bottle. Having just left some lame house party, we idly chatted amongst the field of revelers, never having spoken before that night. We were united in a common loathing of our Fundamentals of Music professor, and this was an impetus to drunkenly engage in fervent conversation about how he inanely made us utter Gregorian chants. We cursed “Kyrie Eleisons” in slurred, disdainful tones. But when the subject turned to “real music”—our music—the kind reserved for collegian elitists, there was really only one relatively obscure band that mattered: Beulah.

Fast-forward two years to the fall of 2007: I attended a panel during CMJ in which the matter of “iconic songs” was discussed. Mele Mel spoke about the socio-cultural significance of hip-hop classic “The Message” and his role in performing it as an integral member of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. He talked at length about how it memorably presented gritty urban realities, especially the crack epidemic of the ’80s, to a mainstream audience. Then Rick Carnes, president of the Songwriters Guild of America, talked about the historic importance of “Brother Can You Spare a Dime”, again a song/commentary on harsh economic conditions during the Great Depression. Pretty heavy stuff. These were songs that were symbolic of cultural moments bigger then the songs themselves.

But then critic Robert Christgau took the mic and spoke completely and non-ironically about Kris Kross’ “Jump”, the hip-hop novelty tween sensation of the early ’90s—because, for one brief moment in 1992, these two boys reigned supreme and even had us wearing our overalls backwards as we leapt in ecstasy. Even this era of inconvenient fashion left as swiftly as it came, “Jump” was iconic for not only the brevity of cultural zeitgeist but the sheer awesomeness of novelty pop—the one-and-one-time-only time, place, and conditions in which such awesomeness can exist. In this instance, it was a mall in Atlanta, where a then 19-year-old Jermaine Dupri discovered Chris “Daddy Mack” Smith and Chris “Mack Daddy” Kelly, and thus the fastest-selling single in 15 years was born.

This unorthodox and fairly democratic approach to determining “iconic” song stature got me thinking about the songs that not only soundtracked my life, but the ones that symbolized it—the songs that matter when the moments exceed the song. In the case of the vodka chugging boy, it was “You’re Only King Once.” An orchestral indie-pop gem off Beulah’s final, bittersweet album Yoko, it’s the ultimate symbolic name for a breakup album if there ever was one.

I’m not quite sure what possessed me to tell him that was my favorite song by his favorite band… maybe the moonlight, probably the alcohol. He was impressed that I knew them from more then The OC soundtrack and doubly impressed that I could use the term “Elephant 6 Collective” in proper context. Which lead to a kiss. And thus began a three-week stint of make-outs, minor music gabbing, more making out, and not much more. He ditched me on Halloween. And that was that. We never saw each other again, except for in class, where we awkwardly pretended we never met while mindlessly chanting ancient Latin chants, because acknowledging the truth would have undoubtedly been more awkward.

It was your standard collegiate hook-up. Nothing out of the ordinary. And yet, it lingers more then the ordinary anything, because of that one little song with the line about “wanting more then just another kiss goodnight.” It’s truly a magnificent thing when a song has a tangible effect on your life and the people that wander in and out of it—especially when one of these people’s tongues winds up in your mouth. And in that sense, “You’re Only King Once” will always be iconic, of a time (just after midnight) and a place (the grassy knoll by the senior town house) and a condition (smitten and inebriated). Representative of a moment that, while brief and superficial, proved just how much can be caused by so little. And just like Kris Kross, it left as quickly as it came.

Listen: Beulah, “You’re Only King Once” [at hype machine]