Musings on Music

Music is more than just a hobby, or something I do for entertainment. I don't listen to it purely for enjoyment, nor do I write it because it's just something to do.

It's the very essence of who I am.

I can trace the changes in me through time simply by what I listened to. I can remember the inner conflicts, and that I was excited about. When I listen to a song from a particularly emotionally charged moment in my life (even if the song is not overly emotional), I get this... sense of what came before. It's not quite a taste, or a smell, or a simple memory. It's like I experience the flavor and the spirit of what that time felt like.

I write music as a way to communicate myself to the world. I think in symbol, perceive in metaphor, see in description, sense music so strongly that my body quakes and I come close to crying. I'm not as socially awkward as some, yet I find stronger expressions in poetry and music and in my art.

It's as if the space around me becomes so emotionally charged that my brain switches off into a completely different plane where I relate to things so much more easily. I ponder and brood so much, forget the little details in the day to day life (If you ask me on Sunday what I did on Friday, I probably won't remember right away), but when I write or listen to music, the complications fall away and I'm left with a single train of thought, or two.

It's when I listen to Carrie Newcomer's song Geodes on repeat. The message never lessens, I am no less impacted by it. Each time something different pops to the forefront, a different phrase or word hits me so hard I almost stop breathing.

Simplicity is found in moments. In this moment there is only me, the computer screen, and the music echoing through the gaps between my bedroom furniture. Music is more than just something to do; it's breath. It's energy. Sometimes I close my eyes when I pick the strings on my guitar and let each word flow from my vocal chords as it will. It's similar to when I read poetry aloud. Each word trips off my tongue, tumbling outwards to touch the invisible particles in the air; I speak them slowly and clearly. Have you ever articulated as such? The poem, or song, suddenly suspended as it floats so slowly. What it “means” escapes the moment as the essence of my voice and instinct triggers an emotional and mental response rather like that of meditation.

New meaning is found in these moments.

There are times when I stop and feel the weight of a split second and am nearly crushed by its tremendous impact. It's like standing in the ocean and closing your eyes just as a large wave suddenly comes crashing over you, but you know that you are completely safe.

I find small pieces of “truth” in such times. Not to be confused with absolute truth. It's funny, what hits us when we least expect it. More comforting than any parent, more earth-shattering than the worst disaster we've experienced, and yet the contradiction itself contains a certain harmony that we would miss otherwise.