Music is my Love Song
Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do
But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues (The Beach Boys)
For an entire summer I did not step out of my room except for meals, bathroom visits, and the occasional outing with my mom the grocery store. It is not that I was sick or held a hatred for the outside world. It was simply that within the four walls of my bedroom was a constant stream of sound that I could not live without. The outside world was blocked out by an intense volume coming from a small simple boom box. CD cases covered the floor of my bedroom and were scattered all around the boom box on my dresser. I would lie in bed and analyze the word coming out of the singer’s mouth, wondering who the songs were about and how I could relate the lyrics to my own life. It was the invention of the CD burner for computers that let me create a new sound everyday for my 24/7-commericial free-radio in my bedroom. “You’re going to go deaf,” my mother would say when she could hear the music clearly, blaring through my headphones during car rides. Music cannot make you deaf, I’d think. Music makes everything else clearer.
It was clear to me that summer that the intensity I was listening to music was having a strong impact on my emotions. Listening to lyrics such as, “Coming straight from off the water/ Sunburned face and drunken father/ Crying as she's carving in her flesh,” would make you think of horrible things as well. However, there was something in those words that inspired me. I was enjoying life, by being extremely depressed and upset with myself for no apparent reason. I would listen to breakup songs despite the fact that I had never even been in a relationship before. It was as if I wanted to be loved just to be let down. High school can be a hard time for anyone, but probably more so if you are forcing yourself into depression and sunshine deprivation.
August Rush: I believe in music the way some people believe in fairytales.
“Mom I can’t see,” I whined as we took our seats in the last row of the theatre. I was dressed up in a ridiculous flower patterned dress, with white stockings, and a suffocating coat. As a little girl I was quite the complainer and refused to see the positive in any kind of situation. My mother led me to my seat, which was directly behind a tall man.
“Broadway musicals are not about what you can see, it’s about what you can hear,” She was not scolding me; she was merely stating a fact to me. The fact that anyone could listen to the soundtrack of a musical and be told the entire story of the play was pure magic to me. I closed my eyes and listened to the von Trapp family sing to each other. I couldn’t see their silly Austrian outfits, but I could imagine the way they looked at each other, and I could picture myself hiding away from Nazis with them. I thought of how glamorous it would be to be 16 going on 17, and in love with a young soldier.
The music filling my ears inspired a strong desire to be something bigger. I was a young sheltered girl wanting to travel and see the world, to experience new things, to hear new things. I wanted to write stories, love stories, sad stories, and poems, based off of the music that filled my brain. I wanted people to sing my songs. My little world had a new a goal, new meanings. It was more than seeing, it was hearing.
Music is an incredibly powerful form of expression. It combines both words and sound to deliver a message. Certain songs that one hears on the radio can trigger specific memories in one's mind. There is no doubt; there is a strong connection between music and our feelings.-Dr. Matthew J. Bush (Psychologist)
In 1999 after the Columbine shootings, educators, parents, and the media put the blame on musicians like Marilyn Manson. They claimed that Manson’s music was hateful and inspired the teenage shooters to murder their fellow classmates. Manson said in the movie “Bowling for Columbine”, that he was not the cause of their actions because they perceived his music the wrong way, “When I was a kid growing up, music was the escape. That's the only thing that had no judgments. You know, you put on a record, and it's not going to yell at you for dressing the way you do. It’s going to make you feel better about it.”
The truth of the matter is that music affects us all differently. Where simple lyrics can change somebody’s life, they may mean nothing to the person sitting next to them. It is how we take the music in, what going on in our lives, what we are looking for through the music.
***
I've come to Your throne here so cold and alone
I'm calling on Your name
I lift my hands to the sky open wide and I cry Lord take me away
Take this heavy heart and this weary soul and set them free
Remove myself till there's nothing left but You alone in me (Casting Pearls)
My mother used to tell me that when I was little I used to dance in the aisles of the church when different songs came on. Being from an uptight, upper-class, predominantly devout-Catholic, town of Northern New Jersey, I am sure the members of the church did not appreciate my little antics. However, years later I sat in a different church by myself listening to the cantor finding myself connecting to the church through music once again. I had been told when I was younger that singing in church was another form of prayer, but unfortunately my singing voice is treacherous and I have a feeling even God would say, “Wow, please stop.” It was a new setting for me, and I barely knew anyone, it being the second week of the semester, and me being merely a freshman in a busy college campus. I felt alone and disconnected from everyone in the school, unlike when I forced a depression upon myself, it was being forced upon me.
A girl I recognized from one of my classes took to the stage, and began a soft, simple, yet beautiful song, “My voice is weak from calling to You both night and day. / How long will You be silent? / Why do You turn away? / Spirit, come and rest Your ear upon my heart; / Come and hear my wordless prayer, my silent plea and take them far away from me.” My heart was throbbing and the small church was dead silent, all listening. I looked up to the cross above the alter and began to feel a connection to myself and the faith that I had wanted for years. I looked down at my crossed arms, rolled up my sleeves and saw faded scars that had once possessed me so. I watched the girl sing so beautifully and looked down at my past every so often, tracing the lines with my fingertips with sighs of regret, and wishing that God had taken better care of me during that time.
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness.-Jamie Tworkowski (Writer and founder of To Write Love on Her Arms)
There seemed to be a smile stapled onto my face, and would not go away. Adrenaline was surging through my body, like I had just run a 5K, or skydived. My voice was perpetually gone, but somehow I felt like I was still screaming. I couldn’t hear people chatting as we all were trying to shuffle out of the small venue. I could care less about their chatter. I had somehow, just managed to be right in the front to see my favorite band play. Did that just happen? Did I seriously get Jon Foreman’s sweat on me? And did I really not bring a camera to this at all?
Those are all true, even the last one, sadly. Of course my mom was right once again as we were leaving, that I should have brought something. I ran outside and my mom was outside the venue waiting for me. Yes I got ditched and had to bring my mom to the concert. No that is not lame. When I finally reached the Philly air, it was pouring and Mom was pulling her hood up. I ran into her arms like I had just won the world cup for my little league soccer team. “OH MY GOD! DID YOU SEE THAT?” She was laughing the entire time as she walked back to the car, with me at her side jumping and screaming to best of my ability. “When he came down to the audience? I WAS RIGHT THERE MOM!!!!”
She laughed at me some more and just said, “I know I saw you right up there in the back. I got into the car and did not want to stop jumping up and down and dancing. At one point she looked over at me, “I was surprised you weren’t going to get deaf that close to the speakers.” I heard every other word; the rest was just a piercing ringing sound that would pass in a day or so.
I laughed to myself, not about to put my headphones on for this car ride, still taking in every single aspect of the night. I looked over at her, still with a huge smile, “Yeah, well at least it’d be worth it.”
