The Internet Cafe.
Wireless Wonderful Life.
Music is almost as old as Smell, in the category of Primitive Sensations.
Ok, it’s like this: it takes you for a ride. And it can be a very sweet sensation. We humans are such a mix of sensibilities: memory, emotion, intellect, intelligence, intuition, silent knowing, dreaming. And our brains, our whole beings are so amazingly developed to savour sensation, to ‘parse’ the delicate labyrinth of “enjoyment”.
Kind of like food, and the art of “tasting”; we’re so wired for pleasure. You know how food seduces you the moment you walk into the house: that definite, even if faint, fragrance in the air. Someone’s been making home-made bread, and the sweet cotton of roasted wheat and butter sends its fingers on a mission: to find You! And the honing in, we move down the hall and the aroma becomes seductive, perhaps mingled with the gentle clanking of cookware. Everything in us stands at attention – the sweet soldiers of Appreciation, trained as early as cradle-babes in mother’s pantry.
Music is like that too. This particular cafe often gives me little gifts, pieces done by well-known musical avatars of decades gone by. Now it’s this: “Stepping Out”, by Joe Jackson. For all you war-babies that bathed in the richness of the sixties-seventies mindset, this one is firmly entrenched as a ‘great’. This song is truly an “elevator”. a journey into the sky. Jackson combines and amazing change of key signatures accompanied by a bass walk-around that’s purely magnificent. With this playing, you pack your bags and go.
Music that we love conjures up inside of us, a mind-boggling recipe of dream – hope – sensation – memory – ecstasy. This illogical ‘language’ speaks to us of things that we could never attempt to say with a mouth, set aside a microsoft keyboard. It leaps past our cultural conditioning, our steadfast science, our rock-in-a-hard-place positioning and massages the sweet and tender dreamer that lives in our hearts. Yes, all of our hearts. No exceptions.
So, Dr Watson: what IS this? What is this silent sweetness that lingers and longs and listens beneath our parched epidermis? What kind of language gets under our skin, what kind of packaging do these Proteins of Love need to enter our Endoplasmic Reticulum and Dance the Dance of Dances?
Are we the Packaging or the Promise that it contains?
I can’t help it, here comes another one:
I’ve had the time of my life
No, i never felt this way before
Yes, i swear (yes, i swear), it’s the truth
And i owe it all to you
’cause i’ve had the time of my life
And i searched through every open door (never felt this way)
Well right now all true
And i owe it all to you
