The Language of Music

John Morris Going has inspired me to write an entry about the magic and the language of Music. John seems to only be slightly conversational (if that) in the language of Music, so I thought I'd give a shot at expressing what music means to me. And, as you have seen from the previously posted song related entries, I love me some music, and I read into songs more than I read into what people think about me.

...Anyway. I really think there's something completely special about music. The origin of music is in millions of different cultures, countries, languages, instruments, states of mind, feelings intuitions ideas modesmoodswordsthoughts... they all mash together into this world of expression and profundity, and in the end it all translates to the same beautiful language. Instead of using a tone of voice to express an emotion, it's built into the song itself.

Music is something beyond what we can hold in our hand. And yes, music is inherently intangible, since it never takes a physical form (except in music videos that attempt to translate songs into visual forms of understanding, but even those are just pixels moving on a T.V. / iPod/ Laptop screen. There's still a barrier between the song and real life). The strangest part for me is the prolific effect music has on my life without ever truly being there. It effects my moods, amplifies my emotions. My state in life directly affects the music I listen to. And it's a reflexive process too; new music I encounter translates into new found perspectives on things. The insight that others invest in their music becomes an insight in my own experience. What else can do that?

And there are breeds of music. I've found solace in a specific pocket of music I really enjoy, and I call it sunshine music (no correlation to my blog's title). It's that music that fills you up. It's happy and alive. Ukuleles, acoustic guitars, or just computers, anything really; synthesized happiness. It's that kind of music that I love to blast on a gorgeous and sunny day with my windows down. The music that puts the hop in your step. The music that appreciates life as much as you do. And then there are the dark and twisty pop songs. Heavy on bass and drum machines, with auto-tuned vocals and electric heartbeats. These songs energize me, they fuel my nights; these songs give the dark, sweaty, neon clubs a deadly pulse. Sad songs go well with rainy days. When I'm depressed or feeling down, or when the grey sky stretches farther than my imagination, sad ballads in a minor key fit perfectly. And sometimes comfort rises out of that beautifully miserable sound. And only music has this quality. We can't really assign moods to language or clothes or movies or books. I guess we can, in some sense. But these things don't modify or mold to our lives as perfectly. To me, these things aren't quite as alive.

It's funny how music is such an important component in movies, too. The images themselves cannot accurately portray real life situations. But the addition of music somehow allows the movie to breathe. Only when we hear a musical score can we feel a movie. And when we're not seeing the movie, just listening to the soundtrack, we can still feel those moments, without the images in front of our eyes. And have you ever seen a scene in a movie that lacks music? All the time. It's a notable decision, because a scene without music in a movie full of scenes with music marks a devastating moment. And an audience member can feel that void, whether or not they're conscious of it.

Music adds meaning to life. When life and music overlap, something inexplicable happens. A few weeks ago, I was listening to my iPod while I was walking to class. At that moment, the enveloping bells of the Campanile pierced through my music bubble and into my chest. And the moment was perfect. The bells, the song, and my feet all shared a moment of synchronization. And it may have lasted only thirty seconds, but while all of these separate components became simultaneous, I felt like I was more than just existing. I felt greater mechanisms at play in my life, and it felt strong, symbolic, transcendent. Of course, the moment passed and I went to class, but there was still the lingering of something special. It happens to me in the car too. When I'm playing a song and the people I pass seem to be marching to the beat of my car's music. It just feels like something coordinates that connection. And I happen to catch a glimpse of it.