The Living Rockumentary

If I ever try to picture myself in a past life, I always find that I am sitting near a roaring fire and looking out over a cold, dark, treeless landscape. Maybe it's the Nordic blood in my veins, but the freezing howl of the autumn and winter wind invigorates me. I hate the cold as much as you, maybe more so, but some part of me relates to it, especially (maybe only), at night. I've always been a night person.

Last night after watching the Red Sox win the thing, and after letting the house settle down, I retired to my late night perch above the city. My computer (campfire) was behaving poorly, the internet connection was slow, slow, slow, so I shut if off.

My computer hardly ever gets shut off and I was surprised at how silent my room was without it whirring away. It made me make a decision to definately move the tower into the other room or maybe seal it in the closet. If I'm seriously trying to record music in there, I really shouldn't have that constant blanket of sound in the background. I should have a cone of silence to work in.

I sat for a minute in the quiet room and noticed how much better the stereo sounded. When was the last time that I actually listened to some music without doing something else at the same time? When was the last time you did?

I took out my remastered copy of Bridge Over Troubled Water and put on So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright. I closed the door and turned off the light. I even put something in the of way-too-bright glow from my stereo.

The guitar and flute filled the speakers. The only light came from a few green leds on my mixing board and and a slight glow from the windows. The no-longer-eclipsed full moon was shining on the yellow and orange leaves, casting silvery reflections into room.

I just sat there and listened. I listened to the melodies and the lyrics and the conga drums and the harmonies and the strings and the reverb. Lately, I've been in one of those what's-the-point moods about music, where it all sounded useless and uninspired. Brian asked earlier in the evening if music was ever going to change anybody again. I immediately said that it, of course, would and that it was doing so as we spoke, but I knew what he meant.

Music changes with your age. When I was a teenager, what could have been more important? R.E.M., The Police, Pink Floyd. These songs weren't things that "people" had created. These songs were bigger that that.

Nowadays, music is still something that I am still consumed with. But it's become smaller. Mostly it's about promoting it or trying to book shows or practicing it. It's not been so much about listening to it.

Lyrics are getting harder and harder to write. I read recently that as people get older, lyrics mean less and less to them. They've heard it before. That's why so many people start to turn to instrumental music. Jazz albums.

That's not going to happen to me, not that it's a bad thing. I love instrumental music, mostly classical or hypnotic, but, lyrics mixed with melody is what I'm most interested in. I just need to listen more.

That ten minutes that I spent listening to those old songs rejuvinated my musical spirit somewhat. I wanted to stay up all night and record songs but the bed and the dayjob were shaking their fingers at me.

I slept well beneath the bright full moon and today I still feel ready to start creating some new music. I'm hoping my own curse was lifted last night.

Maybe that eclipsed moon cured us all.