Comfort of Music
Oct 16th, 2009 by Alex
This week’s duties complete, I’m kicking back and enjoying a live recording of Pete Francis and Boo Reiners. Though they played the Grand Ballroom almost two years ago, I still haven’t grown tired of the 74 minute acoustic set. It’s a semi-permanent fixture in my home CD player.
Music is a fixture of my life, in general. At home. In the car. At work. Out at a show, whether it’s a sideline gig or if I’m just there. Between movies and songs, it’s no wonder that my brain never managed to latch onto calculus.
It does cause some problems, however. My roommate accuses me of “never” paying attention when she’s speaking. This typically happens when there’s music playing, though I have selective memory about any other occurances. I’ll be listening to her and a song that I really like will come on and I’ll interrupt, saying “ooh, that’s a great song.” And in that brief moment I’ll lose track of what we were talking about; lyrics are rolling through my head. And then comes the proper accusation, justly deserved. I can’t really help it. It’s a problem. I’m working on it.
There are albums out there that never grow old. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you listen to them, you can put it right back on immediately afterward or wait a year. It’s still as good as you remember it. More importantly you never need or want to skip a track. You may not know the name of the next track, but you know what it’s supposed to sound like before the previous track ends. August and Everything After is one of those albums, as is Weezer’s blue album, though I’m sure there are others that are close. Both are filled with songs whose riffs I can strum my air guitar to and lyrics I can belt out from memory, whether in the car or at home in the shower. They’re my comfort albums.
There’s such an album out there for everyone. I’m sure of it.
Thanks for this. Now I’m having a hard time pulling away from the computer. P.F. is quite catchy. And happy.