For The Record...
Music is a relatively personal thing to me. I think it is for most of us. Songs and albums and musicians that we feel belong solely to us even though we know that they don't, help us to levitate our connection to music to an almost religious level...spiritual at least. How we listen to music might be more important than what we listen to. For me, it's such a personal thing that I very often don't share it. It's not uncommon for me to obsess over a song or musician and for June to have no idea. I enjoy music so much more when I'm alone...when I don't have to share it. I like to lean on it, to lose myself in whatever healing it's so much more than capable of doing, and I don't very much like to advertise my affinity for whatever music happens to be healing me at the moment.
I pay for downloads. I steal music. I buy CDs. I buy LPs. I rip music DVDs off of bittorrent sites. I can spend entire nights with YouTube and a bottle or four of beer. Probably your average music fan. The only difference being that I get crunchy if I have to share those experiences. I don't mind tossing the odd playlist out, or talking about a random affection here and there, but mostly I hoard whatever muse I've found in my headphones. It's kind of a funny thing.
There are friends I'd open up to...friends that get it...Dustin, Johnny, Scitter...and I don't mind lobbing an easy one Gerry's direction, or soaking up what my Uncle Dennis has to say about something, but for most part I keep it to myself. We all do whatever it is that we do for different reasons, and of course, I'm no different. I have musical affinities that are certainly unique to me, but I have others that are so commonplace that I'm nearly embarrassed to admit to them. One of the more enduring ones has been vinyl. I inherited my father's collection, and portions of uncles, etc...to the tune of several hundred records. I had at one point contemplated abandoning them all and starting over with something that was entirely mine, but a friend convinced me of the madness such thinking was. It's much more than just music now. I have records that belonged to my Father...records that belonged to my Uncle Dennis...records that belonged to June's father, Gerry...records from Netta's Mark...records from friends...records from random family...and records I've gripped tight exiting crowded music stores by myself. It's more a family tree now than a record collection, and I love it.
I've yet to indicate who shall collect them next...when I'm all done with them. I'd hope that it might be Zo, but maybe not. There is no niece or nephew, no little, impressionable funster yet to show a wild and unruly connection to music, and so I cross my fingers and hope that Zoey finds herself in music. Maybe then all these albums that have belonged to those people whose very DNA has helped to make hers, shall find a home other than on the shelves they now rest gently on. It's not a big thing, but it is a pretty personal one.