music has to fit me. if it doesn’t, it’s torture — listening to the wrong music at the wrong time can tear up my psyche something fierce. (if there is a hell, that’s what it will be — wearing itchy polyester listening to barry manilow sing copacabana for all eternity) but i digress, and apologize for the frightening imagery.
different music fits at diffferent times, and right now i am in a bit of a delicate condition. the chronic coughing has left me more sore than alternating handfulls of advil and aspirin can completely alleviate, i’m having nicotine withdrawals, and my head just hurts. so out of my four new CDs, i figured on trying incubus first.
now, this is interesting, creative stuff that i will enjoy the hell out of someday. not now. oh, no, not at all. so then i figured i wanted mellow. headed for the leonard cohen. no. voice is too deep, music too slow, bad vibes in the sore head, no.
i am not ready for the jeff buckley, i know it’s too intense. i didn’t hold out much hope for the final selection, lit: a place in the sun, because it’s somewhat raucous, and i’ve only ever heard one track off the CD. so i pop it in the player and… perfect. oh, every edge in the music corresponds exactly to an irregularity in my consciousness. songs i’ve never heard before seem immediately familiar, and set me to dancing as i sit here in my chair. moving my tight, cranky muscles loosens them up, makes me breathe a little deeper, and the music, which is energetic and clever without being an intellectual challenge, perfectly fills whatever needs this particular iteration of my sick self has. i’m ?differently abled? at this point, and this music is accessible to me.
i’m liking lit very, very much right now. and foster’s is good cough medicine and the house is asleep and if life was good a bit earlier, it’s even better now.