One night, while waiting on the Grand Central Station subway platform, the cleaning crews non-discriminately sprayed burning hot water on the stairs above where I was standing. A puddle dropped at my feet, splattering in my face. A young woman next to me said, “There’s nothing like the fluorescent lights of the subway to melt away a magical night.” We agreed, and soon exchanged stories of our night.

Since I moved to New York about a month ago, the subway has been an endless supply of frustrated inspiration and, in this case, horror. But, as a newcomer, I still think there’s a certain mystical charm about the subway. There's nothing quite like sharing close quarters and occasional stories with the full spectrum of humanity.

That communion with public transportation is a new thing to me. I'm from Colorado -- where we bike or drive. But here, I've quickly noticed each line has it's own personality. The best way I know to describe a feeling, situation -- or in this case cars full of people strung together, is with music. I've paired songs that I believe match the character of my limited subway commute, music diary style.

What's the soundtrack to your subway line? What songs do you like to listen to? Tell us in the comments below, or on Twitter at @Soundcheck.

Subtle, "Earthsick"

1 Train - Manhattan Bound

Few places make me constantly aware of just how much waste humans are capable of creating. Seeing New York for the first time a few months ago, the stark contrast of the sparkling buildings next to heaps of sidewalk garbage jolted me. Getting off of the 1 standing in Times Square is when that "Earthsick" feeling comes on the most strong. Instead of being in awe of the American spectacle I'm filled with nausea. This line depicts that lab rat feeling that comes on staring into the face of giant Barbie doll ads, "I'm American brood, 21st century fair. Mad rat, the latch, and fame of he in that flown maze." The 1 train is filled with families in backpacks treating the subway station like a safari and cramped commuters beyond exhaustion. Yet I’ve learned to take the gross with the glory in this city, and the lyrics of “Earthsick” match that jaded, flat, deadpan feeling locals have on their face. The beat of Subtle's song is like the casual, violent sway of a subway car that sends tourists across the train car. 

Astrud Gilberto, "So Nice"

A Train - Manhattan Bound

With the A train, you never know what you're going to get. Sometimes it's the brand new blue seats, other times it's the '70s orange and cream (maybe white at some point) angled seats. Regardless of the seat arrangement, I get a nostalgic feeling on the A riding into Manhattan. I get thinking when I’m headed to a jazz show on Broadway and all the history and legendary musicians that played in the confines of a club no larger than the suitcase I moved my life in. Or I imagine myself walking through East Village in 1966 with Astrud's elevator-music jangle playing behind me. The movement of this song portrays that wistfulness well. But when it’s played deep within the bowels of New York City sitting next to a man who under estimated how much space he occupies, and across from someone who just emptied their entire bladder in their pants – that discomfort paired with Astrud Gilberto is so joyously ironic.

Television Personalities, "Diary Of A Young Man"

L Train - Williamsburg Bound

I hardly miss a transfer to the L train because it's blatantly obvious that the young, well-dressed folk are headed to Williamsburg. Everyone has their earphones on and side-strapped backpacks in their laps. People are either with friends or solemnly looking at their Jeffrey Campbell boots. Maybe it's a little voyeuristic, but I like to imagine what people are pondering when they stare so intently at the ground. So I listen to this song -- It’s a reading straight out of an angst-ridden, 20-something’s subconscious. Released in 1981, I don't think it's far off from what a diary of a young man now would think. Except, maybe today those words are hastily typed into their iPhone notes.  “I buy a ticket for the mystery train. As soon as I get there it's time to come home again.” It’s spacey enough to drown out the hissing of the tracks, but not too deep to get stuck in a weird headspace. It’s a nice coming down to a hard day before scoring happy hour drinks.

Radiohead, "You And Who's Army?"

3 Train - Brooklyn Bound

I manage to always get lost on the 3 train, and end up riding it all the way to the Rockaway Ave. stop. In those few stops contemplating my confused existence, the 3 is especially gloomy. Once, just as the drums come in at 1:48 in this song, the train rose up from underground. We broke the surface to see the sun setting behind graffiti laden buildings. It was an eerie but breathtaking moment that the music just happened to crescendo at that moment. A woman quietly sang “Amazing Grace” and a few subtly smiled and closed their eyes. I took one earbud out to listen to her singing. The soul in her voice matched the spacious yet sure sound of Radiohead. School children pressed their hands to the window. Even they understood the epic beauty of a well-timed subway trip.

Chad VanGaalen, "City Of Electric Light"

C Train - Brooklyn Bound

The C train is my main mode of transport and later at night, it's sleepy and quiet. Chad Vangaalen has a colorfully sleepy voice so maybe it's not a coincidence I caught my iPod playing this song as I walked up the stairs off my C stop. I looked up to see a street light, with the moon shining behind it. In an awe-inspired moment, I couldn't decide if the lights of Manhattan in the distance or the moon were brighter, and I’m not sure I care to decide. This line: “I thought you were the moon in the sky, but it turned out you were just a street light. You were burning like a hole in the night. You were burning like a city of electric light,” is causally reverent to this city. It captures that exhaustion you feel after an impossibly long day, disappointed in your confusion that you didn't actually see the moon. But despite all that, you can't deny the constant energy of New York. It’s how I feel coming back to the familiar streetlights of my Brooklyn neighborhood from the night-time, electricity of Manhattan.

Fleetwood Mac, "The Chain"

4 Express Train

The 4 train is an odd mix after midnight on the weekend. It's crowded with rambunctious groups, winding down after a night on the town. My old roommate who introduced me to this city is practically Stevie Nicks. She wears fringe shawls, all black and plenty of hats. We would go out and after coming home from the city we would throw this on in our apartment and harmonize like nobody's business. The breaks between verses align with the infrequent stops of the 4 train and I’m almost positive I’ve heard someone say to their s.o. on the four, “If you don’t love me now.” It's the image of my whimsical roommate one night jokingly laying across the bench of the 4 that makes that train so connected with Fleetwood Mac. When I'm walking up my four flights of stairs and hear this playing behind my apartment door, It’s the best way to be welcomed home.