Parker Potter is a former archaeologist and historian, and a retired lawyer. He is currently a semi-professional dogwalker who lives and works in Contoocook.

For the last five or six years, I have used an Echo Dot to play music as I drift off to sleep. Every night, I ask Alexa to play Carole King on I Heart Radio. That request gets me some Carole King plus songs by a couple dozen of her contemporaries who worked the same side of the musical street that she did.

One thing I like about my night music is the memories it conjures up. Almost any song by Carole King or James Taylor reminds me of a small house party I went to in high school where the only two albums we played were Tapestry and Sweet Baby James. Carole King’s I Feel the Earth Move always reminds me of seeing the Broadway musical Beautiful in which that song is the closing number.

George Harrison’s My Sweet Lord always puts me in the back seat of my best friend’s family car, riding between the towns of Orange and Chagrin Falls just south of Cleveland. Suite: Judy Blue Eyes always puts me behind the wheel of a car, driving northbound on Parkview Avenue, in my hometown of Bexley, Ohio.

Cat Stevens’s Peace Train and Carly Simon’s You’re So Vain both do the same thing: they transport me to my high school bedroom, in the morning, getting ready for school. And while this song does not show up in my Carole King mix, for obvious reasons, David Bowie’s Fame always puts me in the men’s-room-green Fiat 124 I drove from town to town in northern Ohio the summer between high school and college when I tried to make a few bucks selling waterless cookware to girls who had recently graduated from high school. Spoiler alert: I made gas money but not much more.

In addition to triggering memories, my night music sometimes raises questions. I get it that Paul Simon was concerned that his mother might take his Kodachrome away, but I’ve never understood why she would want to do that. In Your Smiling Face, James Taylor asks, “Isn’t it amazing a man like me can feel this way,” but there’s nothing in the song to explain just why I should be amazed. Similarly, Taylor declares, “No one can tell me that I’m doing wrong today,” but I have no idea why anyone would call him out for appreciating the smile of a pretty girl. Oh well.

Another thing I enjoy about listening to the same songs over and over again is that I’ve come to listen to them differently. When I first started hearing Carole King’s Jazzman, I was engrossed by the evocative lyrics, but later I started grooving on the saxophone work by Tom Scott, and in particular two long sax notes, one near the beginning of the song, one near the end.

Then there’s the note that Karen Carpenter hits in We’ve Only Just Begun at the end of the phrase, “Watching the signs along the way.” That note always bores straight into my brain, or perhaps my heart.

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Just as I listen for Tom Scott’s sax in Jazzman, I always eagerly await the chimes in Neil Diamond’s Cracklin’ Rosie and the jangly little guitar that starts up in Jim Croce’s Bad, Bad Leroy Brown right when he sings about Leroy’s custom Continental. While it is a different kind of guitar work, the guitar at the end of the Eagles’ Hotel California always gets my attention. Then there’s Carole King’s left hand in You’ve Got a Friend, or perhaps it is a bass guitar, but either way, all I hear is two notes that sound like a heartbeat.

It is also fun to dedicate a night’s listening to a specific instrument. I particularly enjoy a bass guitar night or a drum night. The drums on Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl are pushed to the front and mesmerizing, and I really love the drums at the end of James Taylor’s Fire and Rain. I keep meaning to ask a drummer friend of mine how the drummer on that song got the drums to sound so slack.

One of the most rewarding aspects of my bedtime ritual has been having the chance to reapproach musicians I undervalued in my callow youth. Back in the day, I thought Gordon Lightfoot was a bit of a lightweight, but I’ve come to really appreciate both his voice and his guitar work. The guitar in Sundown reminds me of the eerieness I hear in some of Chris Isaac’s songs. And I just can’t say enough about Karen Carpenter. The purity of her tone is breathtaking.

I generally like most of what Alexa puts in her Carole King mix (although a little less Bread would be fine with me), but there are several songs that give me a special jolt of joy when I hear their first few notes. Here are five of them.

I love the ethereal beauty of Roberta Flack’s voice in Killing Me Softly. Karen Carpenter’s Rainy Days and Mondays delights my ears and tugs at my heart. The crisp elegance of Jim Croce’s guitar in Operator is lovely. Art Garfunkel’s performance in Bridge Over Troubled Water, as he dials up the volume, is a tour de force.

The song that is number one on my late-night hit parade is Suite: Judy Blue Eyes by Crosby, Stills & Nash. The harmonies are nothing short of magical, and my subconscious brain knows how much I love that song; it will wake me up if the song comes on after I have slipped off to dreamland. Thank you, subconscious brain.