{"id":1219,"date":"2011-02-10T10:43:42","date_gmt":"2011-02-10T18:43:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/216.92.17.21\/?p=1219"},"modified":"2011-03-27T12:22:40","modified_gmt":"2011-03-27T19:22:40","slug":"problem-music-preamble-expectation-response","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/?p=1219","title":{"rendered":"the problem with music: a preamble in expectation of a response"},"content":{"rendered":"

I’ve got to put my cards on the table here. \u00a0Finally. \u00a0I’ve let my collaborator-extraordinaire do all the music-talking, and I’ve sat in the shadows and nodded (frequently without comprehension) and watched \u2014 and mostly listened. \u00a0Sometimes I’ve even heard<\/em>. \u00a0The fact is, I can’t believe I agreed to this contract we have at all. \u00a0As some of you now now:<\/p>\n

I hate music.<\/p>\n

I’ve been on a music strike, or sabbatical, or fast for nigh on almost three years now. \u00a0Just can’t listen to the stuff, it gets me so angry.<\/p>\n

The fact is that I’ve never been much of a music person to begin with. \u00a0Saw it primarily as a vehicle for words. \u00a0A selling of words. \u00a0Even if those words do not manifest as lyrics or libretto, but as subtext. \u00a0I was always Dylan over Beatles when that was an argument that mattered. I need words<\/em>. \u00a0Not just words, but words that matter<\/em>. \u00a0When music is present, my brain ceases to function properly. \u00a0The way I imagine alcohol must affect people. \u00a0The body responds without thinking. \u00a0Everything else is subsumed in the face of its supremacy.<\/p>\n

For me, music is never in the background.<\/p>\n

I’m suspicious of music. I don’t trust it. \u00a0I don’t trust musicians. \u00a0I don’t trust myself in their presence. \u00a0They make my knees quake. \u00a0Make my body shake. \u00a0And then they do it again<\/em>. \u00a0On purpose. \u00a0I have no desire to fall under that spell anymore. \u00a0To be honest: \u00a0I don’t want to feel<\/em>. I’m just too old for being putty in their hands.<\/p>\n

Rationality has always been a refuge for me. \u00a0If I can distance myself sufficiently. \u00a0Be the observer. \u00a0The anthropologist. \u00a0I feel safe and quite happily engaged. \u00a0I know what my place is, my role, and how I can help. \u00a0Put music into the equation, and my nice little bubble gets disrupted \u2014 unless that music is ‘good data’ to be collected. \u00a0Then, with notebook in hand, I’m okay again. \u00a0Just collecting it.<\/p>\n

As with alcohol, I don’t like what music can do to people. \u00a0Especially music with a catchy driving beat. \u00a0Or so sweet that your eyes cannot help but tear. \u00a0Or so unbearably lovely that your heart just breaks to hear it. \u00a0We are captives when we are captivated. \u00a0We lose control. \u00a0Our bodies sway. \u00a0Or march in goose step compliance to the Fuhrer. \u00a0 \u00a0How could I not despise such deliberate entrainment? \u00a0How could I not suspect the motives of the musician? \u00a0They wield the weapon called music, and before you know it, millions are incinerated. \u00a0They play and our minds just nod in assent, as our bodies thoughtlessly respond.<\/p>\n

Now, I know the argument: \u00a0Music provides a well-needed release<\/em> of emotions that have been repressed, suppressed, or just plain pent up. \u00a0When we come under its sway, we are healed<\/em>, eased of our pain, brought back into community. \u00a0Our bodies release chemicals that change our brain chemistry. \u00a0We are healthier. \u00a0We live longer. \u00a0It’s just plain fun<\/em>, get over it. \u00a0Bla bla bla. \u00a0I don’t believe a word of it.<\/p>\n

In North Africa, healing does indeed take place through music. \u00a0Spirits are associated with particular rhythms, and those afflicted need those rhythms played. \u00a0They dance<\/em>, the spirits do. \u00a0Even spirits need a good release once in a while, they say. \u00a0And I take notes. No problem.<\/p>\n

But I don’t want it to get me. \u00a0I want to stay inside my rational-brain head. \u00a0Stay inside my notebooks. \u00a0Analytical mode. \u00a0Don’t want to succumb to the power of musical entrainment. \u00a0Why, you say? \u00a0What’s your problem, you say? \u00a0But you already knew. \u00a0Like an alcoholic with alcohol, I know that I am terribly drawn and hopelessly vulnerable to its seduction.<\/p>\n

Music gives me visions.<\/p>\n

Maybe it’s a self-protective device. \u00a0Instead of feeling, I see<\/em> stuff. \u00a0I think that keeps me fairly safe, but I’m not quite sure.<\/p>\n

When I stopped listening to music, it was primarily because my car radio sucks. \u00a0Sticking to NPR is really all my RAV4 can handle, and even that’s a tough sell. \u00a0My otherwise sweet vehicle falls into static fits on a regular basis. \u00a0And that’s after having Toyota try to rectify the problem, replace the radio, check out the antenna. \u00a0Or maybe it’s just my hearing starting to check out. \u00a0Or maybe I’m just a whole lot more impatient than I used to be. \u00a0I still am drawn to the same music that I was before: Nusrat and Cheb Khaled, Rachid Taha and Ofra. \u00a0The Pastoral<\/em> and a three violin concertos. Il Trovatore<\/em>. \u00a0John Handy’s ‘Spanish Lady.’ \u00a0Then there’s that certain beat that my daughter can identify. \u00a0When she wants to move me, she’ll play it surreptitiously. \u00a0Putty<\/em>. \u00a0My son could drag me into his room not by calling, but by playing a certain series of chords he knows I cannot resist. \u00a0More putty, putty \u00a0in his hands. \u00a0I hear that certain-something walking past a cafe, and my legs refuse to pass it by. \u00a0I am struck to the core by that beat I cannot describe. \u00a0A sequence of notes. Powerless under their spell. \u00a0There are sequences of individual notes that make my brain swoon. \u00a0They know who they are.<\/p>\n

And you know where I’m going with this. \u00a0So I’ll just put it out there:<\/p>\n

What on Earth am I doing allowing myself to a) collaborate with a musician, and b) come into daily contact with a manipulative little heartbreaker like Kogan’s Kaddish? \u00a0How could I have allowed this?<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

But there it is. \u00a0I did allow it. \u00a0Thinking (as I do) that this project of ours is too important to forego. \u00a0The Greater Good, and all that. \u00a0Thinking as I did that I’m not immune to the power of music. \u00a0That I’m tough enough to endure. \u00a0Self-sacrificing enough to persevere.<\/p>\n

But suddenly, Erin<\/em>. \u00a0It’s all her fault, of course. \u00a0Well, I’d like to be able to say that. \u00a0But as she reminds me, I’m the one who came up with ‘kaddish in two-part harmony’ as the title for what we’re doing. \u00a0What was I thinking? \u00a0And why wasn’t I paying attention? \u00a0Ah, the little cosmic jokes we play on ourselves!<\/p>\n

So. \u00a0Confession: \u00a0I am no longer neutral. \u00a0No longer unaffected. \u00a0The music is starting to get to me. \u00a0And I don’t understand why. \u00a0I don’t even like the piece. \u00a0How could I have lost my objectivity? \u00a0Lost my anthropological distance? \u00a0Lost control over my heart? \u00a0I thought a ‘project’ was a nice safe place to shove down all my feelings.<\/p>\n

They’re leaking out now, and I’m in trouble. \u00a0All that grief. \u00a0All that love. \u00a0All that loss. \u00a0Before you know it, without some help here, I’ll be drowning in it. \u00a0What I need is a good solid explanation<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Words<\/em>. \u00a0And then I’ll be fine again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I’ve got to put my cards on the table here. \u00a0Finally. \u00a0I’ve let my collaborator-extraordinaire do all the music-talking, and I’ve sat in the shadows and nodded (frequently without comprehension) and watched \u2014 and mostly listened. \u00a0Sometimes I’ve even heard. \u00a0The fact is, I can’t believe I agreed to this contract we have at all….<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[250],"tags":[281,9,214,282],"class_list":["post-1219","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-essays","tag-abuse","tag-music","tag-musicians","tag-rationality"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1219","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1219"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1219\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2643,"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1219\/revisions\/2643"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1219"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1219"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/beitmalkhut.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1219"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}