I got an e-mail announcing the reissue of two albums by Volcano Suns, the band formed by Peter Prescott following the breakup of Mission of Burma.

The news immediately put the riff to “Balancing Act,” from the Suns’ 1985 debut, “The Bright Orange Years,” in my head. But it did more than that.

It brought back vivid memories of the time when that album was on regular rotation at my friends’ place, a stucco party house in the student ghetto of Tuscaloosa, Ala.

Seriously, I could almost smell the spilled beer and cigarette smoke, that moldy scent endemic to run-down abodes only college students will inhabit, the cat litter box no one bothered to clean - I didn’t say they were all good memories. Or appetizing ones.

Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think any movie or a book could rocket me back in time so powerfully.

Somehow a song can burn its impression on your memory so that it’s impossible not to hear it when recalling the scene, even if the song has nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Were there any justice, we’d be able to choose our life’s soundtracks - Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald for those romantic moments, for instance.

It rarely works out that way.

Trust me, there are people who first made out with their future spouses to “Surfin’ Bird” or “In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida.” There are couples who broke up to “Izzo (H.O.V.A.)” or “Baby Got Back.” There likely are couples who broke up because of “Baby Got Back.” But that’s not the point.

The point is they’ll recall that scene when they hear the song. Music is insidious. And damned inconvenient.

Oh well, I’ve heard the sense of smell is even stronger as a memory trigger.

I just hope it’s not that cat litter box.