THIS SEASON'S SOUNDTRACK.
for the first time in my life, i find myself distracted from music.
i noticed this a few weeks ago when sitting in my sister's car as she jumped from artist to artist to see if i'd like any of them. i found myself forcing myself to give the artist allowances for having even the slightest of an interesting sound...and by the time i was halfway through what may have been the the third song, i realized that i wasn't even listening to the words...or music for that matter. that i was concentrating on the simple amusement of the colors of a dark night combined...black...yellow...steel...white.
i don't know if it's just hard to find good music now-a-days. or the fact that whenever you do find an artist worth listening to, it's only a matter of time before a million other artists realize it works and take their style, make it old, and just another cd worth six bucks on a rack in walmart. cliche voices...average lyrics...or even profound and distinct voices singing lyrics saying the words we wish we could say. the words we wish we came up with. and if it does happen to be just simply good music, the radio kills it. and teeny boppers that wear death cab and rilo kiley because they think it'll make them look good. nothing's sacred.
maybe i'm being cynical. three years ago i wouldn't believe i'd ever say such things.
i've just found music's become like a sick fashion. people wear artists like they wear a t-shirt and pair of jeans. people admire others for their cd collections instead of their manners...instead of what matters. so often are feelings and opinions through words already spoken through song after song after song. they're all sayin' the same thing with borrowed sounds, voices, and experiences. i'm tired of hearing it over and over. when none of them know how i feel. none of them know what i've been through. none of them can speak through me. none of them are speaking to me. they're not mine...they're not for me. and they want my money.
it's not that i'm too cool for music. it's just that i've found myself at a place where i can say and feel that my thoughts, my feelings, and my experiences have become my own music. the sound of my husband working upstairs, my cat bounding up then down the stairs, the wind blowing coldly and the leaves rustling sweet chimes against it. that branch from the magnolia tree in our neighbor's backyard that scrapes ever so gently against one of the back windows on our second floor. those are of the sweetest of sounds. my music. i can touch them...feel them. they're simple and pure. and not for sale to everyone.
maybe this is my new fashion. my new pair of jeans. maybe next year i'll look back at this post and say, "well, that was silly."
but, right now, it works for me.
i noticed this a few weeks ago when sitting in my sister's car as she jumped from artist to artist to see if i'd like any of them. i found myself forcing myself to give the artist allowances for having even the slightest of an interesting sound...and by the time i was halfway through what may have been the the third song, i realized that i wasn't even listening to the words...or music for that matter. that i was concentrating on the simple amusement of the colors of a dark night combined...black...yellow...steel...white.
i don't know if it's just hard to find good music now-a-days. or the fact that whenever you do find an artist worth listening to, it's only a matter of time before a million other artists realize it works and take their style, make it old, and just another cd worth six bucks on a rack in walmart. cliche voices...average lyrics...or even profound and distinct voices singing lyrics saying the words we wish we could say. the words we wish we came up with. and if it does happen to be just simply good music, the radio kills it. and teeny boppers that wear death cab and rilo kiley because they think it'll make them look good. nothing's sacred.
maybe i'm being cynical. three years ago i wouldn't believe i'd ever say such things.
i've just found music's become like a sick fashion. people wear artists like they wear a t-shirt and pair of jeans. people admire others for their cd collections instead of their manners...instead of what matters. so often are feelings and opinions through words already spoken through song after song after song. they're all sayin' the same thing with borrowed sounds, voices, and experiences. i'm tired of hearing it over and over. when none of them know how i feel. none of them know what i've been through. none of them can speak through me. none of them are speaking to me. they're not mine...they're not for me. and they want my money.
it's not that i'm too cool for music. it's just that i've found myself at a place where i can say and feel that my thoughts, my feelings, and my experiences have become my own music. the sound of my husband working upstairs, my cat bounding up then down the stairs, the wind blowing coldly and the leaves rustling sweet chimes against it. that branch from the magnolia tree in our neighbor's backyard that scrapes ever so gently against one of the back windows on our second floor. those are of the sweetest of sounds. my music. i can touch them...feel them. they're simple and pure. and not for sale to everyone.
maybe this is my new fashion. my new pair of jeans. maybe next year i'll look back at this post and say, "well, that was silly."
but, right now, it works for me.