Do you ever look into the deep green shadows of a primeval forest and wonder what those secret depths hold? Do you like to write about your new and inventive discoveries while sipping a glass of fragrant wine? Do you enjoy the creative process? Then I hope you will stop a spell, enjoy the adventure, and travel with me as we imagine the possibilities...

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Where is the Music?

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,