If the music is your special friend, dance on fire as it intends.

I have learned to play, more or less, the Londonderry Air on my new harp. The low A was out, so it didn’t sound quite right, but it sounded like the tune most of you know as Danny Boy. I even managed to get a few bits of harmony going. I even managed, I think, to get the posture correct.

It sounded like a tune you might recognise, at least.

I am moved, therefore, to think upon music. I know a lot of people like music, a lot of people love music, and there’s a section of society for whom it is everything.

Music isn’t everything for me. I wish it were, then perhaps I’d get somewhere with it, perhaps I’d have the dedication necessary to become truly great. Aside from singing, on which I remain untutored, it never has been. I suspect singing is always there because the instrument is just always there.

I say ‘music isn’t everything’, but that’s only because the movies and writing got in the way. I’d like to call myself Renaissance Girl, but that implies a skill that is not present. Music isn’t everything… but it should be. Music isn’t everything, but for me, it very nearly is.

Everytime I say ‘without music, I’d be dead’, it sounds entirely simplistic and over-dramatic. Believe me though, when I say that without music, I would be dead. Today has not been a good day, but there have been two bright spots: first, when I was finally typing out scads of stuff I’d written ages ago; second when I was playing Danny Boy on a cheap harp with cheap strings.

Without music I’d be dead. Or at least very, terribly hollow and dead inside. I might still live and breathe, but who would I be? I talk music most of the time, I think music even more. The only things that distract me from music are writing, movies and myself. That’s it. There’s nothing else.

Without music… who would I be? I define myself, the very basis of who I am, on the music I love, just as I define people by the music they like or love. It’s why I could probably never be true friends with a Phil Collins fan, because it’s absolutely everything I am not.

After all, wasn’t it at Knebworth where a crowd full of middle-aged middle-class women ignored Robert Plant, then started screaming for Phil Collins? I find this hilarious, because it’s the exact opposite of what I think should be. I don’t even really understand it.

Random thought that, wasn’t it? I define and shape myself by the music I listen to. It creates and informs my moods for better and for worse, while it does its thing on my personality in ways even I don’t conceive of.

Why all this now? Because I’m down, I suppose, because I can feel myself slipping back into the place with no air, no light, no happiness, as cold and heartless as a dementor. I’ve been buoying myself artificially with the Traveling Wilburys, but even I know that it can only last for so long.

When the Wilburys lose their power, I will fall back in the hole. The problem with having music as your master is that it only lasts as long as the song. When the song ends, what am I left with?

Without Jim Morrison, without Philip Lynott, without Dean and without Mario and without Led Zeppelin, I might be dead. But without them, what could I be?

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2 Responses to If the music is your special friend, dance on fire as it intends.

  1. annearchy says:

    You would be a different person, I’m sure. A lot of my life has been defined by the music I love, so I think I can understand where you’re coming from. I don’t think I couldn’t be friends with someone who liked Phil Collins; I guess it would depend on which other musicians s/he liked. If it was all Phil Collins, Robbie Williams and the Spice Girls…okay, that would be a tough one ๐Ÿ˜‰

  2. logansrogue says:

    I know what you mean, darling. Music is vitally important to my sanity too. ๐Ÿ™‚

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