There is no music. However, I can fix this problem, and do.
I cannot think
without music. Cannot breathe, smell, feel, see or even write. Without tunes floating
around me, I do not exist. I need the deep, passionate pounding of a throbbing
bass drum, the light taps of the snare, the soul haunting humping of hands on
bongos and congas, and the crashing cacophony of cymbals pushing up the hairs
on my arms. It’s hard to stay away from those Zildjians, to remember to sprinkle
them throughout a song like flakes of red pepper perking up a meal, or
exclamation points spicing a story. I’d rather smack the shit out of them. Use
them like lightning during a summer heat storm until the air smells of
electricity and toes curl.
Then there are notes that weave around the drums. Give me a
guitar and heart-rending riffs, the passion on the face of the artist painting
with fingers on the long necked electric guitar, pushing notes deep into wood, the
other hand plucking strings hard and hot, drawing out pieces of my soul. I’ve
seen musicians caught up in a musical moment, eyes closed, body
wrapped around their instrument or the mike while they spill out their guts to
the audience, drawing everyone in, welcoming us to their world of love,
heartache, laughter and tears.
I’m a bluesy girl. No doubt about it, and a belly-song is
what I love – a song so full of life that it clenches my belly and ties me in
knots. Add in a big bull or bass guitar to swing the deep dark tones that keep my
heart beating, and a sweet sax to pull it all to heaven, and, if luck holds
out, a singer who puts words to life and shares with me, the listener, a bit of
their soul.
There are, of course, options available for my ever-present
music addiction, and I do use any method available to get my music fix. Everyone
has their favorite. Mine? Live music, hands down.
Get up. Get dressed. Go out. Listen. You won’t regret it.
See, no matter how loud the IPod, radio, television, stereo, it cannot have the
immediacy of live music. Try it. Pick a venue. In Tallahassee we have so many
opportunities to listen to music and watch musicians play their own songs as
well as old favorites that I cannot even begin to name them. Yes, I have my special
places I go to listen and write. If you search in your town, you will build up
a list of places to go. Most venues for live music are not expensive. Many bands
play for tips, or, as one of my favorite groups say on their tip jar: Bail
Money. Get to know your local musicians. If you have children, show them the
beauty and passion of live music. Let your kids know that music comes from the
heart, from hours of practice, sweat, fun, and real people.
Who knows? You may find the plot for a novel on one of your
musical outings. You could walk in to the bar where the NQH (not quite human) hang
out and hear the White Circle Blues Band. And when the moon is in full bloom,
and the night calls, you might want to walk in the deep southern swamps and
pine forests searching for a Critter-Splitter – or not.
But what ever you do, listen to the music.
Imagining the possibilities,
Peggy
