I was recently chatting with [url=http://lindy.tblog.com]someone[/url] who was pleased as she could be to tell me about two new music purchases she had made. I giggled when she mentioned them with exclamation points at the end of her sentences. I too can relate to that kind of excitement. For someone like me, there's *hardly* anything better than music shopping. I love just holding the new, plastic-wrapped gem in my fingers and walking around the store, showing it off, before making my purchase. It's a courtship of sorts and it's one of the truly simple peasures that someone like me relishes in.
But I digress...
Now... two days later, I've learned that [url=http://lindy.tblog.com]said individual[/url] with the new music has yet to even listen to either of her purchases! I find this utterly shocking ~ not because there is anything wrong with it, of course ~ but simply because it is just so far outside the scope of my own behavior. (You say tomato, I say eggplant). When I purchase new music, I can be seen practically running to my car to slip my newly found love into the CD player for its first listen, my fingers fumbling with the litany of "anti-theft devices" that have been placed on nearly every square inch of the disk for the sole purpose of keeping me out. (Actually, now that I think about it, that may be a good topic for another time. How many sticky bits of barbed wire do they [i]really[/i] need to put on CDs to keep people out, anyway?) I'm sure it's a character flaw on my part, but I simply cannot wait. Waiting... it just seems wrong, somehow.
Of course, with the advent of the internet, we hardly have to wait for anything these days. We're all very used to instant gratification and I'm sure such things have only helped to shorten my already truncated attention span.
*pause*
What was I talking about? Oh right....
*wink*
I suppose, in the end, it all comes down to personal preference, doesn't it? I know I've spoken here before about what it means to me to find or be given new music. Such discoveries and gifts bring me more pleasure than just about anything else. I become lost in those moments and once there, never want to bring my head back above the water; drowning in such feelings seems like a perfectly acceptable way to go. I throw myself into the music... and when I fall in love, I obsess over the song(s) for hours, days, sometimes even weeks - playing it over and over until I hear it in my dreams. (Admittedly, I have a problem).
Yesterday, I received the gift of some new music: Two perfectly lovely songs, from an [url=http://filbert.tblog.com]equally lovely person[/url] . And I'm in love. I've listened to (nearly) nothing else since: both songs on repeat in an endless loop of just them and me and us. I've closed my eyes and heard every layer of the music, letting myself get lost in the intimacies of the voice, the lyrics and all they could mean. When I'm ready to share my new love, I will, but in the meantime, I can only say I'm glad I didn't wait for this feeling. I'm glad I didn't let the music linger for a couple of days before allowing myself to fall into it. Of all the things I am, a fabulous waiter is not one of them.
And to the person doing the waiting: You're [url=http://lindy.tblog.com]crazy girl[/url]... but I'd not have you any other way.
And to the person doing the sharing: Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're [url=http://filbert.tblog.com]seeped in gentle generosity[/url] ... but I'd not have you any other way.
When I jotted off last night's post about Casey Kasem and the American Top 40, I thought it would be something cute to write about... and in truth, it was just a means to end ~ a way for me to send a few musical postcards to some special people.
I love that so many others decided to join in.
And, I've loved reading some of the dedications. I'm telling you, some of the songs that people have given to one another ~ and their reasoning behind choosing that particular few minutes of music ~ are absolutely priceless. I've adored the scratched heads as certain individuals, including myself, tried to decipher the meaning behind the dedication(s) they received. I've giggled at the weak protests of some who felt the song they were given was just, well... all wrong. And... I've relished in the moments when everything just fell into place as it should. Good stuff. And to a self-proclaimed music geek, such as myself, there's hardly anything better than knowing what music makes a person tick and why it does.
That said, I'd like to explain:
[i]To my mother: "Jennifer Juniper" by Donovan[/i] Because she named me. And whenever I hear that song, I can hear her voice singing it and see her fingers wrapped around the neck of that old Stella guitar. [i]To Andy: "Morning Has Broken" by Cat Stevens[/i] Because that's how we met. And because they played it at his funeral. [i]To Lindy: "Blue Dress" by Depeche Mode[/i] Because, as [url=http://lindy.tblog.com]she [/url] likes to tell it, that song was the subject of one of our first conversations. It's quite a song. And she's quite a girl. [i]To BerlinBear : "Conjunction Junction" by Better Than Ezra[/i] Because if ever a person needed a song about the parts of speech dedicated to him, it's [url=http://berlinbear.tblog.com]Berlin Bear.[/url]
And...
[i]To [url=http://filbert.tblog.com]the lock-keeper[/url] : "So What's The Fuss?" by Stevie Wonder (I wouldn't want you to go a day without hearing it).[/i] Because saying that he hates that song would be the worst kind of understatement, and I'm something of a fabulous jabber.
However...
After careful reflection, I think I'd like to reconsider my position on that last dedication. If a "proper dedication" really is one in which you choose a song that captures a feeling, a moment or a memory... then clearly this one simply will not do.
When I was growing up, I used to love to listen to the "American Top 40 Countdown" with [url=http://www.radiohof.org/discj...]Casey Kasem [/url]on Sunday afternoons. I understand from [url=http://lindy.tblog.com]Lindy[/url] that old Casey is still [i]counting down the hits from coast to coast[/i] - but I've not heard him in years. The thing is, I was never really all that interested in the countdown, but I used to *love* the [b]long distance request and dedication[/b]. That's when Casey would slip into his most smoothly empathetic radio voice and read some horribly emotional letter from some listener, in some far away place, in which they lamented a lost love, a tragic death or, (in a shocking number of cases), a clearly unjust imprisonment. No matter what the subject, Casey would read the letter, pausing at all the right moments. Then sigh deeply and say "here's your request and dedication."
I clung to every word.
I have to admit, I don't listen to the radio much these days, but I love the idea of the request and dedication. How lovely to call up your favorite DJ and say "please play this song for my very favorite someone... because they need to hear it. Right now."
I can think of a few people I'd like to dedicate songs to tonight ~ even though some of them are no longer with me, and at least one of them is far too far away. I know they'd catch a glimpse of the music on the wind... and somehow, that would just be enough.
Years ago, when I picked up my little life, packed it into a few suitcases and headed for parts unknown ~3,000 miles away from the place where I grew up and had become who I was~ I made everyone close to me a tape of songs that, to me, symbolized all that they meant to me and all that I hoped I meant to them. This was long before the days of CD burners and MP3s ~ for those of you who are, as they say, [i]barely legal[/i], (and you know who you are.) The thing is, it's not that I was so ridiculously poor that I couldn't afford to give proper gifts (although I certainly was ridiculously poor), it's just that I truly could not think of anything else that I could give the people I loved that would mean quite as much or that would contain quite so much of me. When I look back on it now, I realize that as ready as I was to shed that skin and strike out on the next chapter of my journey, I also very much wanted to leave some bits of me behind, lest I be forgotten completely.
To this day, some of the people who received those tapes still mention them, and I know that at least one or two them are still lurking in some dusty shoebox on the top shelf of more than one pacific northwest closet.
Now... all these years later, when I find myself unusually eager to share a piece of myself with someone who has gained my trust and affection, music is still the thing I give. Much more than even a vishnu finger-puppet, (see below) a collection of the music I cherish most says more about me than just about anything else I can think of. From the insanely intricate process of choosing the tracks to the equally distressing manner in which I arrange and rearrange them, making copy after copy, until I get everything just right, I am keenly aware of just how much of me ends up melded into the tiny fingerprints that sometimes linger on the underside of the disk. It's a process I cherish, but that would mean nothing if not for the person listening on the other end.
~~~~~~~~
When sending a package overseas, the US Postal service requires the sender to list the items contained inside the box (or hopelessly blemished envelope). It's a requirement that can not only be quite embarrassing, depending on exactly what you're sending, (it's not always easy to explain to a postal service employee that people in the UK have never heard of a "pack of nabs"), but that is also a bit unnerving when said contents are meant to be a surprise. Next time, instead of itemizing my tiny list of trinkets and flotsam, I think I'll go for the more minimalist, and certainly more accurate, approach of simply writing "me."
I have something of a confession to make: 
Years ago, when I picked up my little life, packed it into a few suitcases and headed for parts unknown ~3,000 miles away from the place where I grew up and had become who I was~ I made everyone close to me a tape of songs that, to me, symbolized all that they meant to me and all that I hoped I meant to them. This was long before the days of CD burners and MP3s ~ for those of you who are, as they say, [i]barely legal[/i], (and you know who you are.) The thing is, it's not that I was so ridiculously poor that I couldn't afford to give proper gifts (although I certainly was ridiculously poor), it's just that I truly could not think of anything else that I could give the people I loved that would mean quite as much or that would contain quite so much of me. When I look back on it now, I realize that as ready as I was to shed that skin and strike out on the next chapter of my journey, I also very much wanted to leave some bits of me behind, lest I be forgotten completely.