Complex Numbers

Complex Numbers

A good barbecue always has some great music...make a five- to ten-song playlist of some perfect summer tunes to play for your party. And/Or, if you could pick any one band/artist to play in your backyard, who would it be?

You probably don't want me picking the barbecue music.

I've noticed that for most people, happy, upbeat music makes them smile, while sad songs make them depressed. For me, sad songs make me smile, while happy music makes me stabby. My ex-wife used to give me shit about this. Happy songs also seem to me to be very simple, while I appreciate the complexity of more thoughtful music.

I'm also very lyrics-focused. It surprised me when I found out that some people don't even listen to lyrics. To me, they're the point of the song. Songs without meaningful lyrics - no, they don't have to be deep, just something other than nonsense - just don't register for me. Having very little musical talent myself, I don't always pick up on the melodic nuances in a song. Usually, I can tell if it's in a major or minor key, and the genre of the music, and sometimes I can even tell what instruments are playing. But words? Words are kind of my thing. I spent one summer analyzing the lyrics to American Pie, for example, and I think I've even figured them out.

So for a cookout, I'd probably pick songs about the end of summer, or about being just about anywhere else. I noticed one day while on a road trip that I have a disproportionate number of songs about travel on my playlist. I didn't plan this; it's just that many of my favorite songs involve being or going somewhere.

This will probably put a damper on everyone else's good time, so maybe let someone else pick the songs. Most people seem to think it should simply be background noise, while I actually care about the tunes themselves.

Meanwhile, let me give you an example of the kind of thing I'd play, and you can decide for yourself.



As an aside, I had a... moment... today. As I've mentioned before, I've managed to go to the gym every day (save for a week when I was out of town) for several months, now. Mostly, it's a chore, but I do it because I started to feel some improvement, and it's supposed to be good for me. But that doesn't mean I like it. Far from it. It's an exercise (pun intended) in trying to do unsatisfying things that might lead to a better life for me.

Today, though... I leveled up. That is, I was able to notch up the weights on the machines. This made me feel pretty good about things. But then the gym's music system cued up Stevie Nicks' Edge of Seventeen. I don't know if it was her voice (I've always wanted a windup Stevie Nicks to sing me to sleep every night), or the relentless 16th note guitar, or the familiarity of it, but it made me feel... strange. I thought about what emotion I was feeling, running through my usual repertoire: depressed, sad, guilty, schadenfreude, irritated, frustrated, blank, anxious, weary, etc. None of them fit. And then it hit me: this was a feeling I usually only get after a couple of beers, but I haven't had anything with ethanol to drink for a week.

Happy.

I was fucking happy - if only for a few moments.

Later today, I have a doctor appointment scheduled. That should fix that.