Feeling Human...

Even though I'm currently working on my master's degree in psychology, I find that music is the central and driving force in my life. I guess it's always been like that, though. At one point, I thought I wanted to play music always. I loved it like nothing else. But then it became a chore and wasn't fun anymore. When that happened, I knew I had to walk away from it. Playing an instrument should always be enjoyable on some level. Opening the case should never make you cringe or want to storm away in frustration. When it comes to that, it's gone too far.

While I stopped playing, I never stopped listening. In fact, I feel as though I developed those parts of my musical talents in place of my performance abilities. I began putting effort in to truly hearing music. All of the instruments. All of the voices. All of the movement. All of the change and variation. All of the diversity of sound and tonality and quality. All of the thought and emotion struggling to be conveyed. It's amazing what you can hear when you make these things the centerpieces of your listening experience. I can do it now without trying. I just close my eyes and it flows. I can almost see it. I've heard of people who can see sound and, particularly, music. I often envy those individuals.

Obviously, hearing plays the key role in experiencing music; however, I find it relatively easy to feel music as well. The pulse of the beat can be felt in the very pit of my stomach. Certain combinations of notes or the utterance of a certain combination of words may raise the hair on my arms or the back of my neck. I sometimes find myself struggling to breathe as I enjoy a live performance or fully immerse myself in a good album through a pair of high quality headphones. The smells and tastes I sense in the air at live shows are unique to such situations. I always drive home afterward, wondering how it is that I've come to have the scent of hundreds of different people I've never met upon me... some sort of collective aroma consisting of colognes and aftershaves and perfumes and clove cigarettes and marijuana and a dozen different kinds of beer and wine and other assorted alcohols. It's the smell of an evening shared between strangers that are somehow friends simultaneously. Drawn together from all over by a mutual love of a band and their music. I just wish that the sight of a band upon a stage as they perform, as I become excited by the movement of the individuals before me, as they rock and sway and pull forth pure art from their instruments... I wish that affected me as much as all of these other things. But I can close my eyes, leave the work to all of my other senses, and have the most enjoyable experiences of my life. People always ask that question "If you HAD to choose, would you rather go blind or deaf?" For me, it's never been any sort of contest.

Not Ready to Love

I was listening to "One Man Guy," as performed by Rufus Wainwright (the song was originally written and recorded by his father) this morning and, for some reason, found his voice to be particularly comforting and appropriate for my mood today. Because of this, I decided I'd just listen to every Rufus Wainwright song I have with me on my iPod. I've collected random stuff by him over the years from several of his albums, but the only album of his I've ever bought in its entirety is "Release the Stars," his latest one which was released early last summer. While in San Francisco last May, I wandered into the Virgin Megastore off Market Street and encountered a display advertising the newly released album. It was on sale and, for some reason, I felt compelled to purchase it. I had never bought any of his other albums... don't know why I suddenly needed this one. But ANYWAY... I didn't even open it until I left on the bus from Seattle about a week and a half later to make my journey back to Arkansas. I'm really glad I didn't listen to it before then because it complimented the scenery of Eastern Washington and Oregon so well. The snow-capped mountains, the green that stretched forever in all directions... Wainwright's voice and musings on love just seemed to work well as an accompaniment for taking all of it in. I listened to that album a LOT over the course of that two-day ride back to the South. However, I hadn't really paid much attention to it since then. Until today.

When my playlist reached "Release the Stars," I immediately woke up from my Monday morning stupor as I recognized the beginnings of the album. I listened intently, hearing things I remembered fondly, hearing things I didn't remember at all. What struck me most was the fact that I don't remember feeling SO moved by these songs. I don't remember ever actively acknowledging the beauty of these intstrumental arrangements. I don't remember his voice creating this feeling in my chest, causing my breath to catch on certain notes. I don't remember getting chills as I listened to his lyrics. Maybe I was just in a different place mentally when I first experienced this album. Or maybe I just hadn't yet learned to listen this way. Whatever the case may be, I have found a new and amazing friend in this album and I feel so bad for neglecting it for so long.

Last summer, I recall loving the songs "Going to a Town," in which Wainwright criticizes America and how it has let the world down in the last few years, and "Slideshow," in which he ponders his love for a particular individual, whether it's real or not, and what it means for him to feel this way. This time around, I still find those songs lovely; even more so now because of the way I'm listening to them. However, I somehow overlooked this outstanding song called "Not Ready to Love" when I first bought the album. How, I will never know... because it is gorgeous and heart-wrenching and pulls from me a response that few songs can. On my second listen through the album today, I set aside everything I was doing to completely take it in. All I could do was close my eyes and listen, processing the layers of sound -- acoustic guitar, steel guitar, an almost hidden bass line, and later, piano -- overlapping, intertwining, creating an inexplicable beauty with his smooth as silk voice topping it all off like icing on a cake while putting forth words so heartfelt it made me want to cry. I probably would have had I been anywhere else.

I've been in a mood the past week or so stemming from any number of areas in my life. When I stop and really think about it, though, what it comes down to is that I feel lonely. I want someone to want me. I want to turn around and see someone there. I want to wake up, roll over, and see someone I love lying next to me. But, at the same time, I realize I am in no place in my life to want or have this sort of thing. I don't want to involve myself with someone that I will only leave in a number of months as I make my way to Seattle. I already feel like shit, knowing that I'll be doing that to friends I've been lucky enough to find here, those that mean more to me than they'll ever know. To walk away from that kind of love is bad enough, but friendships are designed to withstand time and distance and it's in this that I trust. In short, I don't want to involve myself in something until I can do it right and give another person the same sort of love, affection, and attention that I know I deserve and would expect from them. If I can't put myself in a situation where I can at least attempt to do things correctly, then I don't see the point. This, however, does not change the fact that I'm lonely. That my chest hurts. That I have headaches daily. That I'm filled with a longing that won't go away. That I can't sleep a lot of nights. That I want something I can't have, no matter what I do.

And I guess that's why "Release the Stars," and "Not Ready to Love" in particular, is speaking to me today. I love that music can do that... allow you to connect to SOMETHING, not matter what it is you're feeling or experiencing. When nothing else seems to work, when no one seems to care, when you think you could never find the right words to express what you're feeling, along comes a perfect song, out of the blue, that has the ability to encompass all of the impossibilities of the moment. I'd be lost without that.




I'm not ready to love, I'm not ready for peace
I'm givin' up the dove to the beast
I'm not ready to surrender to another glove murderer

I'm not ready to love, I'm not ready to to fly
I'm givin' up belief in the sky
So you can take my sin in up above on high, say goodbye

I'm not ready to love, I'm not ready to love
I'm not ready to love until I'm ready to love you the way you should be loved
Until I'm ready to hold you the way you should be held
You should be held, but I'm not ready to

"Not Ready to Love," by Rufus Wainwright