I find answers in the space between the notes – the places where music
breaths in between accents. It’s true, a piece of music can change your
life – but it isn’t until the notes have stopped that your ears begin to
crave its embrace.
I was 6 years old when it hit me. My dad and I were on a road trip from
the upper peninsula of Michigan to the palm of the mitten, with only our
luggage and a few cassette tapes in tow.
During Van Morrison’s “Wild Night”, the rhythmic stops during the
opening guitar line pierced my skin and shot into my blood like heroin,
rendering me a life-long addict.
That road trip changed my life forever. I entered into an intimate relationship with music – a love affair that transcends physical touch or boxes of cheap chocolate on Valentines Day.
To this day I cannot get into my car without an MP3 player or a book full of CD’s. If I’m going for a walk downtown, a soundtrack follows. In times when I cannot listen to music, I think about music. My schoolbooks are full of crude compositions and notations, scribbled between assignments and pictures.
Music fills the gaps where words cannot exist.
It allows cultures to transcend color and language, uniting under one common obsession. The world suffers from this beautiful addiction.
It has been used to mend wounded relationships, and to lead armies into battle. It is used to worship God in church, and to celebrate man on the radio.
Music has more power than we could ever give it credit for. This I believe.
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