This is an ode to listening to music alone. Yes, live music in a crowd is awesome and electrifying, when it's good. Yes, dancing with friends is an absolute blast, and yes, music is always a necessary atmospheric enhancement in any and all social situations, even funerals. But listening to music alone; it’s like hanging out with the coolest and most intimate friend you have.
Maybe my relationship with music stems from being an only child, and spending multitudes of hours during my childhood in my room listening to tapes, and recording songs off the radio. I listened to Cyndi Lauper's "She's So Unusual" over and over until the tape warped. I was 9.
Later, when I introduced drugs to my brain, The Doors, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and The Grateful Dead dominated my small peach-walled bedroom while I lay on my waterbed, letting the music lead the way while I got lost in my head. That was high school.
Once I got my own car, I had an even smaller space in which to envelop myself in my music. Totally alone and enclosed I could turn up the volume and sing my atonal heart out. That's still pure joy.
In countless road trips and travels abroad by myself, surrounded by strangers and general newness, music was always the best comfort. A Walkman on a plane, bus, or train, or in a new living arrangement was like closing the doors to those around me. If I didn't want to hang out with them, or was homesick, I just had to wrap myself in a warm blanket of music. Don't make fun of me, or do, but in my traveling years, Squirrel Nut Zippers, Dave Matthews Band, Fiona Apple, Sublime and G Love and Special Sauce were popular with me. I have since met G Love. He's a dick. Whatever, those guys were good to me for a time.
After the traveling years, I had a relationship, and sadly, I think during that time I don’t remember having time alone with my old friend, Music. When single hood came back, so did she. And it was dancing alone in my apartment with my solid, on-my-side girl, Music. You know, getting strong and all that shit.
On the for real tip, music is a healer. And listening to it by yourself is cathartic. Whatever your mood, picking out the accompanying songs to match it, or change it, she always comes through.
These days, vinyl is my muse. The ritual of listening to records is reminiscent of childhood. Here's a nugget for ya; my first record ever was a 45' of Elton John duet with Kiki Dee singing, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart." Don't know it? That's okay. You're not missing anything. I also got a Def Leppard “Pyromania” cassette tape at my 6th or 7th birthday party one year. Which whas cool, (OOM TAC MEEPEN OUTEN MOPEN. I’m not sure that’s the right spelling… What the hell was that anyway, The Deutsch or something? Anyone who knows, please answer in the comment box below).
As I was saying, about the vinyl. I love it long time. It's delightful precisely because you have to get all up in the mix, flippin' albums, cleaning the records, being careful with the needle placement. When you get it right in the groove it’s a tiny victory. Man, people have gotten awful lazy with their damn CD multi-changers. Yeah, alright, I have one, and use it, but shut-up.
The more wine I drink, the more I ramble, even when writing. Let me get the fuck on with it. If you're still reading this you're either really bored wherever you are, or I'm hella charming.
But what I'm trying to get at is that playing records is a wonderful way to spend time alone. Not only do you get to listen to choice tunes, but it gives you something to do. These days on vinyl for me it's The Beatles White Album, The Pretenders, old Heart, The Meters, Rolling Stones, Cat Power, Otis Redding, Steely Dan, Willy Nelson and Beck to name a few. And still, Christ, I love listening to music as my company. I also like using the saviors name in vain.
You know the questions James Lipton asks on “Inside the Actor’s Studio,” when he asks those inane questions and one of them is what’s your favorite curse word. Mine’s “Christ.” I’m sure that’s appalling, But it’s simply true. Has a nice ring to it. But I digress…
In sum, I’m not as hip as the next hipster, even if I am interning at the hippest rag in town. Truth be told, I like a lot of old music, and some new, but really, it’s all moot, because regardless of when music I like to listen to was made, I L-O-V-E music. She has always been here and I know she always will be. I depend on the old songs I love (Gordon Lightfoot…. What?), and the new, (Favorite band ever! White Stripes…Call me, Jack!). She helps me escape. She impresses and invigorates me. She continuously shows me new things, and reminds me of the old. Music and me go way back, and she’s truly integral to my well-being.
That’s why Music gets an ode to her. It is so well deserved. And a big Thank you to that big old gift to humanity that music is. For realsies.
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