“The memory of a perfume or of a snatch of music.”
I spend an inordinate amount of time composing mixes, keeping my Spotify account running even as I spend frantic hours multi-tasking between proofreading, analyzing data and making phone calls at work. By the side, I repeatedly exhaust lyrics and melodies of songs that have moved me. Patiently, I await refrains, bridges, choruses, guitar solos… anything that once caused the tremor of feelings. In my head are tidy folders of music I have allocated for different moments and different people and, in there lies many different soundtracks for films that don’t exist.
Running through the days in the calendar, I admit that I am swallowed up by a consummated love affair with music. It helps me cope with age, time, exhaustion, and the moodiness that often takes me over if I am not careful. I am smitten over songs that bring back memories of conversations over mediocre meals, of sprawling speeches, the split-second lighting of lingering looks, the smokiness of reverberating laughter, over smiles I’ve wished I could pocket. I have a sentimental old soul and this is to my advantage and to my detriment. But these are the songs that have inspired me, songs that have brought me through, songs that have saved me. I am overly attached to these things. Dangerously they improvise on existing emotions, make me fonder of certain people or places, amplify and reduce different subject matters in current and past living conditions.
If not careful, they contain me in utter ignorance, to an elusive state where escape is for free.
Music makes me weak, music makes me strong.
I am fiercely proud of the music that I love. You can scoff at me on this account because I fully understand what a music snob I can be. But like with words, there is an intuitive draw to music. I am possessive of these songs, and at the same time, generous in wanting to share them. I love making and receiving mixes. I love the shy surprise of not knowing what track will come up next, the anticipation of music, and most of all I love silently listening to music with people. There is no greater way to spend time.
Subconsciously, the prevalent part of me that is a dreamer continues to depend on music no matter where I go or what I do and I need this to sustain me.
Here is a mixtape I’ve composed that makes me feel good. Perhaps in its accuracy of capturing certain sentiments, a monumental mood that calls for hushed sensuality, representative of a melancholic heart which I still wonder will cripple me one day. There is a certain truth in music that helps with this deflatable ego.
So here is a gift if you are out there still reading.
I call it “Heart, Impervious”.