It isn't a moment of particular gravitas to hear the Mo Tab on one track and the Commitments on the next. And Elvis sandwiched between Carrie Underwood and Van Halen presents no agony of delete or repeat for my itchy selection finger.
But with each particular selection, a different portion of my personality or warped psyche is exposed for what it truly is... which may or may not be frightening to small children and pregnant women.
In my heart of hearts, I am a percussionist who can drive the rhythm section of any song. In reality, I often struggle to find the beat. I DID play the drums through school and can manage to find a simple groove from time to time, but not enough to truly make a career of it unless we are discussing ways to impress people by pounding out a drum beat while cleaning the shower stall.
I also play the guitar. Sometimes, I can mimic what is being presented by the 'big dogs' and hold my own with them. Other times, I am just playing air guitar and wishing.
When I hear the symphony draw the music of an orchestral arrangement to elegant and joyous heights, I have at least a minor appreciation for the struggle and effort required to blend together the notes and the number of musicians who desire to match their skill to the conductor's vision of what should happen.
I direct the music... generally when no one is home but me and the dog and she doesn't normally complain if I miscue her on an entrance. Frankly, she is so used to living with a musical
One of my greatest pleasures is strolling through my musical memory of songs good and bad, happy and depressing and songs that just act as a time portal to a specific moment that is catalogued in my lifetime of memories.
Funny thing is, a great deal of who I am and what I have allowed myself to become is connected directly to the music that was going on at the time.
I remember the music that was playing when the first boy I was not directly related to asked me to dance. "Color My World" by Chicago. I learned to play it on the piano just to preserve that moment. No, I didn't love the guy - I didn't even KNOW him.
Frankly, it was a church dance where the boys were all COMMANDED to dance with every single girl in the building "regardless of whether or not she is a 'dog'" and the fact that it was more commandment and obligation than choice and opportunity was sort of like taking a rasp to a piece of rough plywood and calling it beautiful music. But it was dancing and it got us off of our butts for at least a few minutes that night.
It wasn't until I got into college that I realized that my musical tastes were abnormal in comparison to the other gals in the dorm. They were devoted heart, body and soul to singular artists or groups.
I felt no such constraints. How could you love only ONE artist or group or style when the world was filled with so many who needed a momentary piece of your musical worship??? Yeah, it was a form of idolatry, but we all grow at different rates, so sue me.
Happy with Frank Sinatra and The Bee Gees equally and completely at home with Olivia Newton-John all occupying beloved slots in my record collection. Alabama crooned songs that reminded me of home and the 'what could be' that all young girls dream over combined with the Roseanne Cash songs that I was SURE that I sounded just like while in the shower. My roommates disagreed, I'm sure.
As I have gotten older, my tastes haven't changed so much as they have expanded. I have welcomed new artists into my collection, but have kept room for those songs and artists that mark the passage of both time and a mental bookmark.
It doesn't take much to send me on a trip. All I need is a particular song and I know where I was and with whom I was spending my time or if I was alone.
Even now, listening to the EXTREMELY odd collection that lives on my iPod or iTouch, I know it is a truer measure of who I am in reality than the carefully crafted persona that I show to the world. I can be cultured and calm.
People who truly know me aren't fooled by the "Sunday go to meeting" face.
Truthfully, I'm not trying to fool anyone. The reality is that I am still very much a work in progress. Sometimes, a song says everything I want to say but often lack the words on my own. Songs come into my life that share emotion that I may be uncomfortable under other circumstances in showing. But let that music play and it changes who I am, if only for a moment.
Sometimes, I hear songs that I truly wish I could dance to the way I see other people dance. Even when everything still worked and didn't hurt, my body simply hasn't ever moved in those lithe and sinuous movements that other people seem to be possessed with and in control over. But I move however I can, generally in the shower so no one can see or laugh at the spectacle.
In my egotistical mind's eye, there are some songs that I hear that make me think "gee, I could do that one for a ward activity or family party". Unabashedly, I sing along and picture myself wearing a 'rocker chick' ensemble that I used to own and a body that hasn't been mine in decades. I play and sing with the skill of a pro and have lights and sound that would make Kelly Clarkson envious.
Do I care that people know that I am a lunatic? Maybe not. I have the feeling most people have personalities every bit at splintered as mine on the music that moves their own heart in ways that cannot be enumerated to one not afflicted in a similar manner.
I can listen to the soundtrack to "Coyote Ugly" and see myself on the bar dancing and singing and commanding the music to be mine. Likewise, I listen to the Alto Air #20 from Handel's Messiah and be fully convinced that it could be something that I could share and enjoy.
I'm not sure that all of my musical leanings are extremes from the sacred to the profane. I sure hope not. But if God didn't like music, why is there so much variety from which to choose?
Enough for now. It's time to enjoy Francine Reeves bringing on a fine arrangement of "Wild Women Don't Get the Blues". Sweet, sweet music... and, you know, with a smokey bar and a sweet jazz band to back me, I could do this....
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