I sit down to write this morning. It is quiet. My people are gone from the house; it is just me and the dog. Of course, I put on music. Instantly, I am gone, consumed. Streaming Mimi Griswald’s Sunday morning iconic show The Blue Moon Cafe and hearing my life rewind. So many artists, songs, riffs, lyrics…I am lost and found in the music. Always.
Music is that incredible shared language that is also extraordinarily isolating. You and I can hear the same song, love it to our core, and have zero common connection to it. I can stand in the middle of a hundred or more strangers and share an unnamable and pure understanding of a single moment. Our individual experiences are so personal, they cannot be articulated.
So today I am setting aside my own words in favor of those far more adept than I. The ones who have guitars in their hands, not on their walls. The music makers, who somehow find a way to communicate the ideas that live deep in our souls. I don’t often attempt to write about music because it becomes trite and always (always) falls short.
Forgive me. I’m signing off to tune back in.