We've been talking about this question on FB this morning, so it seemed the appropriate topic to address in my blog today.
I think we have pretty much agreed that it's hard to put into words what is moving about a particular artist's music. This is a deeply personal relationship, and often not a verbal one.
But my experiences in discovering an artist are most likely jarring and immediate.
I still have memories of driving a car and hearing a song come on the radio.
I had to pull over. I was so transfixed,
When I heard "Bullet The Blue Sky" for the first time. It felt to me like the opening moments of Apocalypse Now. I had never heard a guitar playing like a shooting bomb, and I had never heard a voice speaking over the top of that sound. I felt like I was in a war zone. I felt shell shocked and stunned that a song like this would be on the radio, so jarringly real, so frightening, so alive.
Another experience I had in the car was hearing Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush sing "Don't Give Up"
..."you still have us..." I burst into tears alone. I felt so comforted. I felt seen and hugged and loved and ok. I felt warm.
My experience with these artists came with an "Oh My God how dare they!" and this was because the songs felt so personal and so dangerous. Any censorship was suddenly lifted. Very personal kingdoms had been entered, and it felt exciting.
I remember hearing the song, "Backstabber" when I was a kid. "They smile to your face, and all the time they wanna take your place." I couldn't believe someone would write about this; I had felt it in my life, but I never heard anyone sing about it. The same feeling came over me when I heard "Me and Mrs. Jones." What? "We got a thing going on." How salacious and how wonderful.
When my mother played the Joni Mitchell album, BLUE, I just couldn't believe the voice I heard. It was so sweet and so pure and light. I had never absorbed anything like it. All of the lyrics were written inside the album, and I devoured every song, loving the language, feeling the most delicate intimate pain. I felt like I was going someplace I really wasn't allowed to go. An open door to a private place.
When I feel on the inside with an artist , when I get the secret code, when I have discovered someone no one else knows about, I am thrilled. I feel like I have my own romance, go on my own dates, have my very special friend. I hope and pray no one else discovers MY artists. I am possessive and private . I collect every album. I memorize songs. I sing them on walks.
It's a true communion, as though I am eating the body, drinking the holy wine.
Leonard Cohen. Joni Mitchell. Richard Thompson. John Martyn. Laura Nyro. REM. Pearl Jam. Nirvana. Radiohead. Paul Simon. The Smithereens. Chris Cornell.
That having been said, once any of these artists was popularized, I distanced myself. The spell was broken. My holy sanctuary, my CD shrine, my books of lyrics felt like childhood possessions, and I disavowed them, suddenly becoming critical and dismissive and fussy,
My religious devotion to particular songwriters and bands got me through the loneliness of all of the moves I had to make as a child, the cultural adjustments. These were my friends, my dearest deepest friends. I had no desire to share them with anyone. I disdained fan clubs.
Now sort of grown, and professional, I find myself surrounded with lovers of music who can quote song lyrics, remember albums and timelines and have musical encyclopedias in their frontal cortexes. I have become a learning musician, loving songs in new and often startling ways. I listen to bass parts now, and drums, and arrangements, And I am far less closeted about embracing lots of artists, an overwhelming number.
I am not sure which is more profound: the private discovery, or the shared joy of a new track,
I'm glad I have embraced the communal music culture, though sometimes I wish I could crawl back to that private kinship, the solitude of the artist who belonged to me and my ears only.
I honestly wouldn't mind if my own music were embraced with that much affection, and remained obscure. In the end, the song that keeps you company is as close or closer than anyone can get to your soul. We can't explain it, don't need to, and God bless it forever.
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