The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Passions

"Passions" 

I have a tendency to find the value in music long after it is past it's five minutes. I suppose I like it better when it isn't being forced on me, via music videos, incessant airplay, gossip and endless photographs of the artist clad in designer duds, drunk, incoherent and obviously unable to handle the kind of attention they're getting. I let it die down before I let myself find the art in it, if there's any in it to be found. I wait, I let the crowd filter out, and then I quietly take a seat and listen to the music when the artist thinks there's no one around. It's how I am with most things. I don't care for crowds or mass hysteria.

Take two days ago, for instance. I was watching something on television as I prepared dinner, and I saw a guy wearing a 'Faith No More' t-shirt. It was like a light went on in my head--Oh yeah! I forgot about them! What happened to them anyway? God, I miss that song...what song was that again? So I went upstairs that night and I downloaded a good handful of their more well-known tunes and found myself transported back to the early '90's, sitting next to R. in the black Buick, careening down a country road to that obscure little ice-cream place that was popular by word of mouth. I loved their chocolate peanut butter ice-cream the best, but sometimes felt too guilty to get it, opting for their frozen yogourt in the waffle cone instead. I was there again, by virtue of Mike Patton's whiny, sexy voice and as I looked down at myself, I swear I saw that wraparound skirt with the snakeskin print on it and the scoop-necked, rust-coloured blouse that accentuated my curves in a way I'd call flattering. I could smell the summer through the cracked illusion of a window, the distant cow manure in the farms that dotted the horizon. I also instantly felt that youthful blend of sex and innocence rush over me, and I suppose it's possible I pursed my lips as I looked in the mirror behind me a few times, trying to find that girl again, the one who didn't know better. Those moments were filled with lust, power (in a slightly understated way) and optimism. It never occurred to me that I'd change that much.

Beyond the personal anecdotes there was also a sense of sadness. When was the last time I heard a song and thought 'Wow, that's writing. I totally connect with this'? The last nine or ten years have been kind of bankrupt for art on a musical level, I think. Oh sure, there are the bands most of us have never heard of who inspire and rock in tiny, unsung clubs that line the dirtier streets in the cities, but for some reason, we don't get access to that. What we get are heavily contrived, beauty pageant winners who writhe, melt, sigh and whinny all in the name of consumerism. Popularity in music, like in most other aspects of life, has very little to with talent or character it seems.

But, to be fair, when Faith No More was at the height of their success, I was only half-listening. Now, it's fairly obvious that they were the inspirations for Nu metal bands that I begrudgingly came to like, despite the protestations of my folksy, poppy friends. Maybe now that the dust has settled on that era, I can hear better. I don't think that this will happen with regard to the present era, but you never know.

So, does age have something to do with how you receive music? Is it possible that aging makes us impervious to the charm of it, the passion in it? Of course a young person who loves music will say that they will never stop loving it, but this would be the conviction of someone who has not experienced a lot of change yet. Or, is it possible that you always love the music of your youth, but you fill up on it, making it impossible to understand/appreciate the newer music which pumps through your own teenager's walls? I think of my father as an example. Through the 1960's, he was in a rock band, a fairly serious little group which toured various countries before he ended falling for my mother and settling in Canada (occasionally I'm given to viewing this as a big mistake on his part). He sang, he played keyboards and sometimes guitar, and he had a little following. Then, he had the three kids with my mom and ends up working as a stonemason/bricklayer to pay the bills. The music fell away, like dead skin. Of course, the radio was always on, and we were inundated with Beatles music, which, frankly, is the best, anyway. There were other bands as well, too many to count, but as the years wore on, the music was of my mother's choosing: Elvis (sorry, not a big Presley fan here), ABBA, Barry Manilow, Michael Jackson (lord help me), until I came of age to pout in my room, listening to Duran Duran, New Order, Blondie and what have you. Now, I don't think he listens to anything but old Irish fighting songs. I find this disappointing.

Maybe this explains my ongoing attraction to musicians. Nope, have never dated one because they represented a way of life I couldn't get into, but if I saw a guy with a guitar and longish hair, I was almost certainly interested in finding out what they were all about. I had three musician crushes in my late teens/early twenties. One of them made a very successful career of it, which pleases me and keeps me sixteen in certain places. His hair is much shorter than it used to be, though, and I know he's been divorced and has a teenaged son. He is no longer the guy who struts with his guitar on his back, wearing tiny sunglasses and a long, black coat. The last picture I saw of him he was wearing a down-filled vest and a pair of actual glasses. He looked the same, but a little more pudgy in the face and a lot more tired.

The point is, you have to drink it in while you're thirsty. It will mean so much more to you when you're older and in dire need of a reminder of who you are. The music is not just about who sings it or plays it. It captures whole days of your life and doesn't release them, letting you time travel when you find the present too predictable, too bland. Some of us might actually keep our passion for it alive for our entire lives, but even now, in my slightly tender thirties, I find myself unable to make any kind of connection to a great deal of what is regarded as music. For me, the good stuff tends to be in the soundtracks to all the programs on HBO. Californication has some highly cool tunes, actually. Part of the reason I watch it.

I saw Veruca Salt in 1995 when they opened for Live. They were my favourite band at the time, and are still in my top three. As time wore on, though, Nina had enough of Louise and she quit to do her own thing, sing more 'mature' music.
Veruca Salt just wasn't the same after that.

Nothing is the same, change being the only constant.