I Will Dare
As I mentioned last week, the process of moving is about getting unstuck. All weekend, I continued to disentangle myself from my possessions, which forced both reconsideration and renewal. For example, once a few records were removed from the shelves, it was as if the rest of them could breathe, and I noticed some of them for the first time in years.
Neglect is a powerful motivator. But at least with music, the journey toward reconciliation is relatively painless. Last night, I took advantage of a record collection reborn and reanimated and sat around playing records for one of my friends. This friend, whose identity I shall keep revealed, is a self-proclaimed ignoramus when it comes to music. And there is no greater challenge or joy for a music lover than to be presented with someone who has never heard Patti Smith's Horses in its entirety, or a single album by Television.
As I pulled the sleeves off of albums, scanning for the right tracks to play, the moment to put the needle down, and the proper way to introduce the band, I anticipated the small explosion of new sounds upon fresh ears. Intentionality is something I've mentioned before on this blog. But it's been a while since I sat in the room and acted as a salesperson or conduit for an album. Sure, after years of Rolling Stone or countless rock books telling us that Horses is one of the greatest records of all time -- or that the line "Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine" is incendiary -- we might intellectually know that to be the truth. But try testing that fact, or proving it. And by proof, I mean to reveal the song out of context 33 years later to someone who has no preconceived notions about it.
Presenting supposedly great works of art for the first time, or music dear to oneself, is always difficult. You're forced to hear the songs objectively, and to witness them via someone else's experience. We might know that a certain album is considered genius, crucial or revolutionary -- or that it changed our own lives -- but can a song or artist convey an essential importance or validity immediately? While Playing Hendrix, Wire, The Slits, Black Sabbath and the Stooges to my friend, I had to question (and I even worried) whether they really would sound thunderous or, for that matter, new. I'd hoped that something old even could sound new -- and certain songs, like the opening riff of "See No Evil" by Television, did.
I discovered last night that the albums we've come to take for granted can leave fresh marks upon us; they can override nostalgia and sentimentality; they can overtake a moment, permeate and flood. It's good to know, beyond mere mental recognition or a historical acknowledgement, that certain music can and does turn you inside out. It's hard to make the space, physically or mentally, for that power sometimes -- a lot of our music listening has become unintentional, crammed into crevices to make room for the rest of our hectic lives. Might I suggest, then, that every once in a while, you let some of your favorite songs or albums take over a whole room -- or, better yet, a whole night. But only if you're ready.
2:49 PM ET | 08- 4-2008 | permalink
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