After I posted my blog yesterday, I had a little look through my posts since December, and it looks like there is a gradually emerging theme. You don’t have to have known me for very long to know that music is a massive part of my life, and I thought it was probably time to put that side of me under the microscope a little bit. Shall we do it in public? Why yes, we shall.
I’m not pretending to be some kind of musical virtuoso - it’s always embarrassing when people confidently declare that “music is my life” before what almost always turns out to be a horrendous performance of something by Leona Lewis - but I’ve always found that music is able to get to the root of my emotions and help me express myself in a way that nothing else can. There are two ways this can work, and they both have their moments.
The first way is as a response to what I’m already feeling. Ask almost any of my friends and they’ll tell you I’m more than a little uncomfortable talking about anything that involves any kind of emotion or vulnerability. Maybe this is an issue of pride - I simply don’t want to sound like an idiot - or maybe it’s a wariness that comes from having tried and failed to adequately express myself in the past. Either way, it’s a massive struggle. It’s been said, however (and I forget who by), that whatever you’re feeling, whatever situation you’re in, somebody’s written a song about it. More often than not, I’ve found this to be true, and there’s something about hearing my emotions expressed both lyrically and musically that, at its best, is incredibly powerful. It’s a bit emo, I know, but when I can’t put words to how I’m feeling, hearing somebody else express it is a massive help. It’s not always a negative thing, either. Putting a happy song on when you’re feeling brilliant is every bit as responsive as putting a sad song on when you’re feeling rubbish: it can capture and heighten the emotion you’re feeling, and wallowing or rejoicing in it for a bit can be delightfully escapist, in a funny sort of way.
Naturally, though, this isn’t always healthy, especially when it comes to wallowing. The alternative to the first option is to treat music as a cure for whatever else is going on. When I’m having a bad day I can, more often than not, be cheered up by a tight groove and a beautiful melody as much as by ice cream and a Peep Show DVD. More, even. Music has the power to manipulate emotion - my emotion, at least - as much as anything and anyone else I’ve experienced. Breaking out of a bad mood can be almost impossibly difficult, but with a bit of light-hearted pop or tight funk it suddenly becomes no challenge at all: just immerse yourself in the music and be happy. It’s like drowning your sorrows with abundant alcoholic beverages, only infinitely more fulfilling. The question is, though, does it deal with any problems, or is it still just emotional escapism?
I’ve flirted with both options over the last few days, and, whilst there is definitely a place for emo wallowing, I’ve found myself leaning much more towards ‘happy music’. I spent the majority of the day yesterday trying to write out the drum part for Toto’s ‘Rosanna’ (a project that will continue through Easter, I suspect), and just having the groove on a loop in my head put me in an irrepressibly and irrationally good mood for the whole day. When, in the evening, I sat down to play what I’d written, I was all smiles. It felt good. I can’t explain why or how music has managed to have such a tight hold on the way I feel, but I think I like it. The important thing for me is to be careful what I’m listening to, and to be aware of the effect it has on me.
Once I’ve got the hang of that, I’ll be a confident and eloquent expresser of emotion, both verbally and musically. That’s the plan, anyway. Until then, I’ll just bumble on as I am and hope for the best.
