There’s something to be said for a really good song. Of course, whether or not the song is really good or not is solely based upon the individual’s personal opinions and preferences.
People seem to think that they have the righto analyse and criticise someone’s taste in music based on what their own taste in music is. It’s alright to have your own opinions about a musical artist. For instance, I don’t particularly like Lady Gaga’s music. My best friend does. But should I belittle her because she doesn’t? How would you feel if someone told you that your taste in music was shit and that you need to pick a new favourite band because the songs that they write and perform are not what others classify as “real music”? In my opinion, to put it as diplomatically as I possibly can, it’s not nice and it shouldn’t happen.
For some people, including myself, some bands, singers, acts, have the potential to heal all wounds and solve all problems, at least, temporarily. Ever since I remember, a series of musical artists have been helping me through ups and downs, twists and turns. Thus, for those musicians, “with great power comes great responsibility”.
I’ve heard, or read, stories from musicians outlining how they feel about knowing that they can have immense amounts of power over individual audience member’s lives―a lot of these anecdotes involve suicidal thoughts and the music being there as a support mechanism for the fan, resulting in the artist inadvertently saving the life of the individual. Though very sad, I think these tales are beautiful and prove to me what I have always thought―that music is a graceful and powerful art form and should always be valued.
I’ve never really had the chance to tell my favourite musicians about the impact that they’ve had on my life. Each time I might have taken up the opportunity to do so, I have turned into a whimpering, blabbering, superficial, teenage (or seemingly teenage) wreck. I just, sort of, stand there with orb-esque eyes, letting some undiscernible noises escape my mouth. So they just stand there waiting for me to stop and probably wondering whether I actually have the ability to utter a word correctly.
It is my belief, that there will always be a song that exists in the world that fits your mood exactly. Sometimes, you find a song that speaks to you no matter what your mood is. It has the capability to fix everything temporarily. That song, for me, is ‘To Build a Home’ by the Cinematic Orchestra. The song has been used in many movies and TV shows (that’s where I first heard it), but it’s usually cut up to that the majority of the music that you hear is either instrumental or the end bit.
Though the lyrics of the six-minute song seem morose on the surface, I find hope in them too. To me, they say that life is hard and there will be events and people that will try to stop you from trying to climb to the top to reach happiness. They will try to dislodge you, try to break you, try to make you fall. But you can fight for your happiness. Sometimes you will fall, but if you hold on with all your might, you may not.
Of course, this song may not say these things to you. You may think that it is depressing, slow and uses way too much piano and strings. That’s okay, you’re allowed. Music is interpretive. It’s art.
So, find that song that makes you happy. Play it on repeat. Dance around your room to it at 3am. And don’t listen to the person that says it’s shit, because it’s not shit―at least, not to you.
There was a day when the world was shrouded in black. Every movement of a limb ached and I couldn’t see the people properly through the dark veil before my eyes.
At the end of the day, I would slip the headphones over my ears and I would lie beneath the feathered covers and listen for hours.
‘I don’t know how you can,’ they said, ‘listen to music so awful.’
I would scowl at them, tell them they didn’t understand; I would continue to push through the ache, leaving them behind ‘til the next day.
In this period, at the end of the day, the rest of the world falls away. They sing to me, they play for me; they utter words of wisdom loudly in my ears.
Somewhere along the way, the words become a mantra―become a reminder of the abilities that I have. They tell me I can do this, you have strength, this is where you find the things you need.
This is where I found my strength. Slowly the veil began to lift, the shroud dissolved and now I see strong colour. Royal blues, blood reds, sun yellows, grass greens―the whole spectrum.
Still I get “I don’t know how you can …”
Instead of letting the words embed themselves, like I used to. I tell myself that it is okay. I will be okay. I am allowed to listen. I am allowed to choose my music. After all, they don’t have to listen, do they?