I am Afraid of Music
There was a time when I cared only about Für Elise, Michael Jackson, and the Backstreet Boys. I was your go-to expert on all the obscure 90s pop groups, all formed and managed by Lou Pearlman. I knew the Transcontinental Records roster inside out.
With Für Elise, I would put myself on replay for that Beethoven classic, wondering who the captivating Elise was. How fortunate her soul must feel to have the immortal legacy of song dedicated to her! The tragic looping, the sweeping descent into something deep and dark, and the swell of hope – it was pure addiction through my fingertips.
Music, like scents, triggers memories. It transports and transforms and transfixes. But we must be cautious. If I am feeling melancholy, how long do I honor my sadness before I should put on something more uplifting? If my faith is exhausted and I am tired of wrestling with my God, shouldn't the praise songs come on to help me cling tighter?
I've become more attuned to my sensitivity to melody and beat. We get to choose what we listen to, so we should make it good. It is true when we are informed that what flows out of us is from the heart. It is true that we must guard what flows into us.
I want to come to a place where I can listen to Utada Hikaru's "Deep River" EP again. It is important. Wish me luck.