Music

Music - combinations of sounds, artistically strung together to express ideas, concepts, and feelings. For some, a specific piece can instill excitement, creativity, and stimulation, yet to others it is nothing but loud chaotic sounds designed to scare off birds, rodents, and small animals. Some will appreciate the softer sounds of a piece, experiencing the passion portrayed by the composer, while others will only find boredom.

I learned sometime ago the effect of music on the human psyche, or more specifically on mine. There are days where my mood lends me to a specific style or performer. There are driving songs, thinking songs, working songs, and songs to allow me to escape. The wonders of technology have progressed to the point where we can copy or ‘rip’ the songs off our CD’s or buy them directly off the Internet. We can decide what style we want, what emotions we want to generate, or what energy levels we wish to tap. We can create personalized CD’s combining songs and styles at will.

I use an MP3 player while working out on an elliptical exercise machine. The songs are selected based on beat, rhythm, and duration, and stored in the order I want to experience them to help maximize my workout, the final song is from the ‘Last of the Mohicans’ movie soundtrack; an intense piece and I match its pace. I shut my eyes and I am no longer at the gym, I am in a world where I have no boundaries, moving through a forest, sliding past trees at a high rate of speed, the sunlight flashes as it peers through a canopy of leaves. The song reaches its crescendo and starts to taper off to a long soft rhythm, with just enough time to cool down. Within minutes the music is done, as am I. Stepping off the machine, I am thankful for the ride.

Psyche goes beyond humans. We have a very vocal dog. Paden will sometimes express himself with heavy sighs when irritated or bored, and an equally intense “purr” when he is content. The latter often heard while he basks in sunlight. We often have music playing in the background, usually jazz, accented with an alto sax. Sometimes we play the haunting Celtic music of “Enya,” producing an immersing calm, covering one from head to toe. During a recent evening, as we relaxed, reading and writing, the multiple “purrs” released amid the songs signified our dogs’ approval of the evening selections.

In reality, all music has a place. There are styles we grow to love, and then there are styles some of us can easily live without. They cross cultures, countries and continents. From the primal sounds of beating drums, telling stories with intermittent consistency, to the symphonies of the great composers. From bellowed polkas, twangy country, and hardened rock to the repetitive rhythms of disco and its cousin – rap. Music, if listened to with an open mind, and more importantly an open heart, can ingratiate itself into our being, and into our very soul.

Music can affect moods, attitudes, and feelings, changing, even temporarily, how we perceive the world around us. It can manipulate emotions, thoughts, and sensations, pulling passion from anyone who allows themselves the opportunity to experience it. Whatever the music, Country, Classical, Rap, or Rock, how we score the experience is up to us.

One of my life’s enjoyments is sitting in a coffee shop and writing. Labor Day I sat at a Starbucks and pecked out a paragraph or two. Suddenly I am aware that something is out of place. It’s the song coming over the sound system, tugging on an old memory, like a youngster tugging on a shirttail. I recognize the song and in my amazement I lean across the communal work desk and ask the stranger on the other side, “Are they really playing Led Zeppelin in Starbucks?” He looked perplexed for a second, then a smile fed by awareness, preceded his agreement. Led Zeppelin, a rock group started in the late sixties and considered by some to be the founders of the musical styles known as “hard rock” and “heavy metal.” Heavy Metal! Yet, here at Starbucks, in-between those with the day off, those who are on break, and those that are working, flows notes and words, sharpened by steel guitar, striking drums, and unique singing, all of which comprises the Led Zeppelins’ song “Whole Lotta Love.” One wonders what Led Zeppelin would have said, if asked at the beginning of their journey, if they thought their music would ever be played in coffee shops.

By keeping music as part of our lives, we set ourselves up to adventures we might have missed. We are given tools to reduce stress, encourage passion, and sharpen focus. We open our world to an endless variety of new experiences. When we embrace music, we create a friend with which to reminiscence, friends that sometimes reappear in the most unlikely places.

A Glimpse of the City

Earlier this week I “volunteered” to take my daughter to the doctor. The doctor requested her presence because doctors have to eat too. As I sat in the waiting room I tried to read but the TV and talking drove me outside to a bench. There I found myself distracted yet again, this time by the city and its accompanying attendants.

A breeze carries a whiff of work from a nearby restaurant; eggs and bacon, or is that ham? The remnant exhaust of a passing car or truck quickly replaces it. It is the same smell I remember while on a trip and for an instant I am walking the streets of Paris, or sitting outside a café drinking a beer and watching people. The breeze changes direction again and I detect the sweetness of the flowers that have been provided residence in the huge flowerpot at the end of the walkway. It has followed the hint of second-hand smoke from a passing driver. And who could mistake the smell of freshly baked donuts for anything but freshly baked donuts as the aroma meanders on it way. Once in Pampa, my friends and I met at the donut shop at 4:30 in the morning. The owner had just pulled the first batch off the line; they melted in your mouth as you ate them. I am thankful I cannot see the shop.

I have moved beyond the ability to read, and I set the book down and watch the streets. Neil Diamond has a song called ‘Beautiful Noise’ about the sounds of the street. It is about the cars, the trucks, and the people. It is about the sounds of the living city. A truck passes, followed by a covey of cars, each one producing its own version of the same song separated by intermittent breaks and pauses. In the distance a light-rail train approaches and I hope to hear the clickity-clack that trains so often sing, but progress has muted its music to a burst of white noise, and it passes on its way.

A pickup pulls into the parking lot and splashes through a puddle left by yesterdays too little rain. It is a sound unheard for months. Across the parking lot comes a sound I had not heard for over a decade, the sound of a long retired VW engine. In the 70’s Volkswagen produced an unusual but short-lived car called “The Thing.” Now one has pulled into a parking space across the lot. As far as I can see, it is in mint condition, bright orange with a tan ragtop. There is a part of me that would love to have one, and another part of me that questions my sanity about such things.

East of me a riding lawnmower rumbles into view as its rider is carried about the lawn. It is followed by another man carrying a weed-bapper, both singing their song in harmony. My eye drifts to a figure walking off to the side, carrying a full trash bag over his shoulder. He is headed for the dumpster and I wonder if he is depositing or collecting. He sets the bag down and from a distance I can hear the aluminum cans clatter as they settle. He disappears for a minute or two behind the fence surrounding the dumpster. I wait. He reappears with a very large clear bag containing a fair number of cans. He made a good catch. I watch to see what he will do with the two bags. He opens the larger one and pours the contents of the black trash bag into it with a mono symphony of sound that only aluminum cans can produce. When he is done, he takes the unused trash bag, disappears behind the fence to deposit it in the dumpster and returns. Interestingly, even a man from the streets, with far less than the average person, has more respect for this world and its environment than so many others I have seen.

The sights and sounds are momentarily put on pause as two people exit the doctors’ office. They walk very slowly together, the older gentleman setting the pace, the younger close to steady as needed. As they pass I notice their attire. Each one wearing similar outfits - kaki dress pants, same shade, but different brands. The belts almost match but the older gentleman’s has a bit more style. The shoes are also almost identical, one being a shade off the other. They both have on plaid shirts, completely different colors and patterns, yet both subdued. As they reach the curb to step off, the father reaches for the son, and the son steadies the father. How interesting and wonderful that life works in such circles, for I have no doubt that times ago the roles were reversed as the son tried to step off a curb, steadied by the father.

The city has a life as do each of us. The city, like us, runs in cycles, works in cycles, and lives in cycles. We each start our day, progress through and toward its light; end and begin again. We move in circles within circles. Each one new, each one repeating, and yet each is unique. Each one creating adventures, events, and memories. All of them journeys within journeys.