In the wake of the last week, music has been more central to my life than it has for at least a decade. It has been on in my office, the car, on walks, putting away dishes, and chatting with Tim. I'm desperately hungry for new songs I haven't heard before, things that elicit and reflect the powerful things I'm feeling. Becoming an adult in most of the developed world, it's almost possible to feel convinced that the arts are a hobby, that the individuals who hold up mirrors to our lives and our society are somehow less important. We don't pay most artists living wages and we don't give them much social status unless they have risen to the absolute pinnacle of accomplishment.
Gregory Alan Isakov, Trent Reznor, and Asaf Avidan have been my constant companions over the last week. I've listened to Ramin Djawadi, Dvorak, Faure, and Eric Whitcare on repeat. I've been craving songs I listened to in college, things that give me comfort and a sense of normalcy. And when it all feels like too much, I turn on a song written by someone who seems to have manifested my own pain and translated it into musical form.
Tonight, Brandi Carlile whispers, "I see your suffering and I have felt it, too. Rejoice! Mourn! Celebrate! Fume! This is your humanity. Be calm, be brave, it'll be okay."
No comments:
Post a Comment