“Without music, life would be a mistake.”

                                         –  Friedrich Nietzsche

I don’t know when I first heard this quote but it has always resonated with me. I once had one of those horrifying “Sophie’s Choice”-type conversations with a friend: “If you had to lose either your vision or your hearing, which would you choose?” Well, loving to read the way that I do this decision seemed almost impossible until I realized that “reading” would still be available to me through Braille or someone else’s voice, but music? I simply can’t imagine life without music.

Maybe this is because music serves so many purposes in my life. It’s not just entertainment. It’s language and memory. It’s a way to time-travel and a way to center myself. It’s a mood-producer and mood-enhancer. Given this love affair with music, one would think that I’d be endowed with some talent in this department. Oh, I can play a little piano-by-ear but that’s about it. Perhaps I was a great composer in another lifetime but this time around I’ve just been given a huge fascination with the subject.

I love reading about song-writers, particularly those that composed during the decade in which I grew up, the 60’s. I’m captivated by the lives of people who have music running through their brains, and this love of the lifestyle has led me to some very interesting places.

For instance, in the early 60’s I adored the harmonies of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys. I found that the combination of their voices on songs like Surfer Girl, In My Room and Warmth of the Sun calmed me in ways I couldn’t describe. (Since I didn’t understand the harmonic attraction, I attributed my feelings to the looks of their drummer, Dennis Wilson). Although I didn’t stay a fan through the 70’s and 80’s, I found myself coming ‘round again in the late 1990’s. I was becoming familiar with the internet, and someone suggested that I try looking up sites connected with old interests.

So I searched out The Beach Boys and Brian Wilson and wound up in a chat room. Not only did I learn a lot about the production of music, I also (incidentally) met my future husband there. I’ve actually come to believe that it wasn’t incidental at all; rather, that those seeds were planted in the early 60’s (or who knows when in cosmic time) so that when the hour came, Roy and I would recognize each other through our mutual love of this sound, and have the opportunity to build on that.

Obviously we’ve all been attracted by different kinds of music and artists and bands but how much of that attraction has wound itself into our life stories? I’d be willing to bet that it’s a large amount. Not only the people we’ve met along the way, but the way music helps us process these relationships. (Aside: my daughter is about to marry a hugely talented musician.

For me, music is a special doorway into the past that is powerful beyond my comprehension. It unlocks memories and emotions that I can’t get to any other way.

I’m currently working on a memoir of sorts and I find it interesting what I can recall and what stays stubbornly just out-of-reach. When I get stuck, I play some songs from the time period I’m working with and it’s as if the key suddenly appears and smoothly turns the lock on the door containing those memories. And even if I can’t remember the specifics, I can still feel the emotion of that time. Tracking the emotion often gets me back to what I’m after.

Have you ever been plunged into a forgotten phase of your life just by hearing a song from those days? It’s an amazing experience. I have such a vivid recollection of when I was maybe 5 years old and was in the den with my father. He was listening to Ravel’s Bolero on our new stereo and I was “marching” to the music around and around the coffee table. I was mesmerized by that composition and the way it kept getting louder and more insistent. I believe that it was one of my early major “flow” experiences. And I remember being in 6^th grade music class when a very inventive teacher suggested that we close our eyes, listen to Peer Gynt’s “In The Hall Of The Mountain King” and then draw whatever the music made us feel and see.

I have such respect for musicians (and of course other kinds of artists) who work intensely for years, honing their craft and then creating out of the best their imaginations can offer. We’re all so fortunate to be able to enjoy their creations, and then take those gifts and use them to inspire gifts of our own.

Every time I look at the cover of the Woodstock album, I relate to the age of the couple pictured there. I mean – aren’t I still that age? But now I’m looking at the picture of that same couple 40 years later, and I don’t relate AT ALL. Maybe I’m living in a time warp? Does anyone else feel that way?

photo credit mathiasdradams

It’s been a bit of a strange week. I was feeling under the weather for most of it but am finally up and about again. Tonight we went out to dinner at Sedona’s oldest continually-operating restaurant (from the early 1900’s), and were entertained by a marvelous Beatles cover band. During a break I was chatting with one of the female backup singers and shared that my only regret in life is never having performed onstage with a band. Unfortunately, I confided, I don’t have any talent that qualifies me to get up there, but I loved her response. She told me that she became part of the band after she retired from her first career and that it’s never too late to experience your heart’s desire. “Buy a kazoo,” she said, “and join a rock band. Go for the dream.”

You know, that idea isn’t so far-fetched. My future son-in-law is a musician. Maybe if I got a kazoo…