Musica

It annoys me when people wield music like it’s an accurate, defining factor to their degree of interest to the world. The bigger, more diverse, more obscure my list of music, the more I play my iPod, the more interesting I am than you. I never was that big into music in the sense that I want it to define me for other people. I like it when a song plays, any song, and it touches a harmonic of thought, intensifies a good emotion, invokes a pleasant memory. I enjoy singing loudly to some, not for the song’s sake, but for the sake of singing in general. Music has nothing to do with me. I don’t prefer bands, genres, or generations. I don’t want these things to portray me in any way. Cascading, ascending tones, melodies, notes and lyrics aren’t me; they accompany me. They are as arbitrary as any other sound. So, when I see those lists, those never-ending mountains of names and titles, it just doesn’t make sense to me. Why not list the sounds crickets make, or the sound of a waterfall, the call of a bird, the creak of a floorboard? Then you’d look pretentious, I know, but seriously. Think about it.