Mar 7, 2011
It’s 2011, and if I want to hear music I don’t have to be deprived for a single split-second. I just pop in one of the 400 CDs I own. After an entire morning of one CD after the other I decide to go get some exercise at the gym, but first I go online and download a couple of new songs from iTunes for 99 cents each and upload them to my iPod Nano which already contains nearly an entire gigabyte of music.
Driving along, I turn on my radio and casually sift through every musical genre known to humankind, via AM, FM, or satellite. Arriving at the gym I go inside and am immediately engulfed by classic rock playing on the overhead speakers, which I hear only up to the point that I don my iPod. After my workout I stop by a coffee shop and order a cup of slightly overpriced joe to the sounds of 90s alt rock, served by a barista with one ear bud in her ear and an iPod tucked in her jeans pocket. Employees back in the kitchen are standing around a small battered disc player singing along to “Paradise City” by Guns ‘n’ Roses, which is entirely different from the song being played in the store, which is not the song on the barista’s iPod, and none of them are the same as the song playing in my head, which has been lingering there ever since my workout.
You want music? Yeah, we got music (pardon the slang). What we don’t have is any sane sense of balance.
It is understandable that we inundate ourselves with music. Music is infinite and mysterious; it speaks to our souls in a direct and unique manner, and the accompanying rush is highly addictive. As a composer, I can sympathize with anyone adrift in the ecstasy of music, listening to its meter and tones, studying its forms, reveling in the emotions and passions it inspires. It’s a very tempting substitute for God in a society that wants a god with no moral expectations or doctrinal entanglements.