Sunday, August 12, 2018
Sunday Reflection: Soul Music
I grew up surrounded by music. My parents had a great record collection, and there were records stacked up to play all the time. They still do, in updated format; when I'm home, my dad will be painting in the back yard with Ornette Coleman playing.
In college, I had a radio show every week for all four years; my first year, IPLawGuy was the station manager, and I got his attention by remixing songs and I got a show. I loved picking out the music and talking about it-- some of what I said was even true. (Other things weren't-- for example, I once played a Toucan Sam 45 rpm record I had cut off the back of a serial box at 33 and claimed it was Barry White).
Into my 20's and 30's and beyond I consumed and loved music. I found new bands and went to concerts and when I drove I played music loud and sang in the car. I have always been astounded by people who can sing well; it's a total magic trick to me, like making objects disappear or speaking French.
But then, maybe ten years ago, something happened, and I don't really know how or why. I stopped looking for new music. I started listening to talk radio in the car. I lost track of what songs I had in my collection.
And I think I lost a part of my soul then, too-- a part that could bring real joy, or reflection or reverie.
What did I lose?
Well, I lost the feeling I had when I would drive down Jefferson Avenue in Detroit, singing this song and making appropriate hand gestures (when I was driving the Miata, people would stare):
And I lost the way a song like this would make my heart race, and get me ready for whatever it was that was going to happen next:
And this, too, could do the same thing to me:
I need to change this, and let my soul be whole again.
In college, I had a radio show every week for all four years; my first year, IPLawGuy was the station manager, and I got his attention by remixing songs and I got a show. I loved picking out the music and talking about it-- some of what I said was even true. (Other things weren't-- for example, I once played a Toucan Sam 45 rpm record I had cut off the back of a serial box at 33 and claimed it was Barry White).
Into my 20's and 30's and beyond I consumed and loved music. I found new bands and went to concerts and when I drove I played music loud and sang in the car. I have always been astounded by people who can sing well; it's a total magic trick to me, like making objects disappear or speaking French.
But then, maybe ten years ago, something happened, and I don't really know how or why. I stopped looking for new music. I started listening to talk radio in the car. I lost track of what songs I had in my collection.
And I think I lost a part of my soul then, too-- a part that could bring real joy, or reflection or reverie.
What did I lose?
Well, I lost the feeling I had when I would drive down Jefferson Avenue in Detroit, singing this song and making appropriate hand gestures (when I was driving the Miata, people would stare):
And I lost the way a song like this would make my heart race, and get me ready for whatever it was that was going to happen next:
And this, too, could do the same thing to me:
I need to change this, and let my soul be whole again.
