Music matters. But the problem is, sometimes I find it goes way beyond that, and outright takes over. It stands up and shouts until I comply with it. I’m not just saying this so I don’t have to be responsible for my actions; but sometimes music barges in and bluntly tells me what to do.
Once, music told me to break up with my boyfriend. We’d been going out for four months, and it was okay. I wasn’t over-the-moon, but I definitely wasn’t planning on ending it yet. Until I wrote a song, and played it back off my laptop speakers. And it told me loud and clear, “You’re not happy. End it”.
I don’t know how it does this. But songwriting for me is like this mystical, magnifying emotion-processor. I sit down, and strum some chords and open my mouth. And the sound that comes out tells me exactly, in succinct summary form, what’s what. I normally don’t understand what mood I’m in, but whenever I sit down to write it suddenly becomes very obvious. Everything gets laid out, all crystal clear.
Music doesn’t stop there. The moment you start relying on it to sort your emotions, it demands more and more of your attention. It’s gotten to the point where I become severely tangled up if I can’t write music. I can’t find much clarity without writing. I find it hard deciding what to do next without consulting this ridiculous emotion-processor.
Music’s becoming my crutch. We have this symbiotic relationship; it started off as a small growth on my neck but now the parasite is growing and growing and I’m relying on it more than ever. I’m not sure that I could ever get rid of it. But then, why would I want to?
By Ruby Frost