It’s not what you think about music that counts, but how you feel about it.
On an intellectual level, music is a complex synaptic key that opens the mind to that abstract space where we connect with ourselves.
This said, I no longer consider it necessary to intellectualise music – its primary function is, after all, to be experienced.
My life is that unaligned with the realms of the sensible world that I find myself spending 20-25 hours a week travelling to and from work. By travelling I do not mean the suicidal task of driving on the ghost highway, but travelling on trains and on the Underground.
Public transport, in theory, cannot be faulted; in reality the transport system in Inglan is incompetently run, creaky, under-maintained and crowded. Travelling on the Piccadilly and Central Lines during peak hours often involves enforced breath exchange between strangers.
When trapped in a crowded cylinder of orange metal some distance below the surface of Metropolis the flight portion of fight/flight response is useless; levels of aggression rise in response.
Under these circumstances, being in possession of an iGod packed with music is essential.
Listening to at least 4 hours of music a day has, for me, no negatives, but does require a large amount of music, a fact which sees me trawling through Amazona and raiding my son’s increasingly obscure collection for fresh meat.
The outcome is that I have discovered that, contrary to the popular belief among those of my vintage, music is far from dead – I have rediscovered my passion for new music; not just new in the sense of now, but new to me.
When it comes to music I can usually tell after one listen whether I’m going like it or not but 20-25 hours of travelling means that if it’s on your iGod, you’re likely to give it a few more chances before dismissing it completely as another kissed frog of the non-prince variety.
The upshot of this is that I have fallen in love with much of the slow-burner type music that requires some familiarity before the hooks embed themselves properly.
All that travelling isn’t as bad as it sounds.
On an intellectual level, music is a complex synaptic key that opens the mind to that abstract space where we connect with ourselves.
This said, I no longer consider it necessary to intellectualise music – its primary function is, after all, to be experienced.
My life is that unaligned with the realms of the sensible world that I find myself spending 20-25 hours a week travelling to and from work. By travelling I do not mean the suicidal task of driving on the ghost highway, but travelling on trains and on the Underground.
Public transport, in theory, cannot be faulted; in reality the transport system in Inglan is incompetently run, creaky, under-maintained and crowded. Travelling on the Piccadilly and Central Lines during peak hours often involves enforced breath exchange between strangers.
When trapped in a crowded cylinder of orange metal some distance below the surface of Metropolis the flight portion of fight/flight response is useless; levels of aggression rise in response.
Under these circumstances, being in possession of an iGod packed with music is essential.
Listening to at least 4 hours of music a day has, for me, no negatives, but does require a large amount of music, a fact which sees me trawling through Amazona and raiding my son’s increasingly obscure collection for fresh meat.
The outcome is that I have discovered that, contrary to the popular belief among those of my vintage, music is far from dead – I have rediscovered my passion for new music; not just new in the sense of now, but new to me.
When it comes to music I can usually tell after one listen whether I’m going like it or not but 20-25 hours of travelling means that if it’s on your iGod, you’re likely to give it a few more chances before dismissing it completely as another kissed frog of the non-prince variety.
The upshot of this is that I have fallen in love with much of the slow-burner type music that requires some familiarity before the hooks embed themselves properly.
All that travelling isn’t as bad as it sounds.
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Hope Sandoval & the Warm Inventions ~ Suzanne
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Driven by the Demons of Progress
Those of you who have your site on blogspot may have noticed the Gurgle have recently added the facility to add static pages to your site.
Much of my weekend has been spent (to the chagrin of Sagittarius) trying to force this facility to obey my wishes. The hawk-eyed among you may have noticed the new tabs below The Far Queue title banner: ‘Soup Kitchen’ is a little bullshit thought experiment which I will attempt to grow over the months. Given the limitations of the static page facility I have decided not to include the ‘comments’ option but if anyone feels strongly enough to want to comment on what is there then please feel free to contact me on piscesblog at hotmail dot com.
4 comments:
I love Hope Sandoval, and smiled at "iGod"! The London Underground is pretty frightening at peak times, and of course the cost is ridiculous.
I'll have to stop by atyour Soup Kitchen...
I don't always find masel in a position to comment, but I do find masel in a position to enjoy every word that you write.
let's hear it for those bullshit thought experiments !! rah rah!!
I love a little BS now and then :)
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