Music is the Autobiography of one's soul
I just returned home to Charleston. What an interesting thing to say..."home to Charleston." It has a nice feeling slipping off of my tongue. I am glad to be back, but at the same time I feel guilty leaving my mother all alone for the remainder of this week. Dad is still in Hilton Head with my grandparents and will be until Sunday. If it was up to me, I would have stayed at home for the rest of the week. If I hadn't missed any classes so far or not had an English test tomorrow...I definitely would have. Alas...the odds are not in my favor.
I am sitting here on Julia's computer with the words of Elton John's "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" sinking into my brain. My eyes tend to roll into the back of my head during this song, almost as if the music hypmotized me and at the same time freezes my actions. I can't help but be swept away by the waves emotions in an ocean of melody. The song literally takes me over. That is when you know you have made a connection with musical beauty...when you can't get enough of a song...you listen to it intently over and over just to feel the waves of emotion crash again and again at the same fall of a note and rise of a bridge. Elton John is amazing...his voice has such a unique affect on me. The same point in the song...the second half of the first verse...I simply go numb with awe. And in some strange way, my skin rises and a chill navigates its way up and down my body. A sensation of a painlike affect forces my chest to sink and my breath is extracted from my body. A tinge in my spirit clouds my eyes with slight tears. I feel myself in that song...I am in that song...it is me and I am it. That is the sign of good music...not good...almost spiritual. When you can find a piece of you in every note of music, every vocal lill...every pregnant pause. This may not make sense to any of you...but I just couldn't resist sharing this. If you haven't heard this song...listen to it. Here are the lyrics:
And now I know
Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say
I thought I knew
But now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City
Until you've seen this trash can dream come true
You stand at the edge while people run you through
And I thank the Lord there's people out there like you
I thank the Lord there's people out there like you
While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky
But they can't and that is why
They know not if it's dark outside or light
This Broadway's got
It's got a lot of songs to sing
If I knew the tunes I might join in
I'll go my way alone
Grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown in New York City
Subway's no way for a good man to go down
Rich man can ride and the hobo he can drown
And I thank the Lord for the people I have found
I thank the Lord for the people I have found
You will leave a piece of yourself in it every time you listen to it...then when you return to it, you will find it there, waiting to be recaptured. The best songs will do that, every time you hear it, you find a piece of yourself in it. And you feel complete for having heard it.
I am sitting here on Julia's computer with the words of Elton John's "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" sinking into my brain. My eyes tend to roll into the back of my head during this song, almost as if the music hypmotized me and at the same time freezes my actions. I can't help but be swept away by the waves emotions in an ocean of melody. The song literally takes me over. That is when you know you have made a connection with musical beauty...when you can't get enough of a song...you listen to it intently over and over just to feel the waves of emotion crash again and again at the same fall of a note and rise of a bridge. Elton John is amazing...his voice has such a unique affect on me. The same point in the song...the second half of the first verse...I simply go numb with awe. And in some strange way, my skin rises and a chill navigates its way up and down my body. A sensation of a painlike affect forces my chest to sink and my breath is extracted from my body. A tinge in my spirit clouds my eyes with slight tears. I feel myself in that song...I am in that song...it is me and I am it. That is the sign of good music...not good...almost spiritual. When you can find a piece of you in every note of music, every vocal lill...every pregnant pause. This may not make sense to any of you...but I just couldn't resist sharing this. If you haven't heard this song...listen to it. Here are the lyrics:
And now I know
Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say
I thought I knew
But now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City
Until you've seen this trash can dream come true
You stand at the edge while people run you through
And I thank the Lord there's people out there like you
I thank the Lord there's people out there like you
While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky
But they can't and that is why
They know not if it's dark outside or light
This Broadway's got
It's got a lot of songs to sing
If I knew the tunes I might join in
I'll go my way alone
Grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown in New York City
Subway's no way for a good man to go down
Rich man can ride and the hobo he can drown
And I thank the Lord for the people I have found
I thank the Lord for the people I have found
You will leave a piece of yourself in it every time you listen to it...then when you return to it, you will find it there, waiting to be recaptured. The best songs will do that, every time you hear it, you find a piece of yourself in it. And you feel complete for having heard it.