« 036: Recovery Through Ancient Ceremonies | Main | 038: Dream Chic » April 22, 2003

037: A Whore For That Special Rhythm

I am a music whore. Such a pronouncement shouldn't surprise any of you, but I need to say it aloud once in awhile to remind myself. Though today the phrase which came to my lips was: "I'm a music bastard." When I'm not daydreaming about the novels that I'm not working on, I'm speed-slamming music. I did the math a few years ago and realized I have enough music on the shelves to go 24/7 nearly two months and never repeat a disc. It's a statistic that I say with embarrassment and befuddlement rather than with macho "I got more stuff than you" pride. The reason: it isn't enough. New records come out on Tuesday here in the States and I've already given thought twice to which CD store I could hit over lunch to check what's new. It's not that I'm looking for anything; it's not that I don't have a stack of discs on the shelf back home that I haven't listened to yet. What drives me to these thoughts and actions is the idea of something NEW.

And this is why I am a whore. I devour music. I crack jewel cases when I open them; I lick liner notes, sniff the tray inserts on the off-chance that they are scratch-n-sniff, and listen to the CD with my finger fidgeting near the 'track advance' button. Why? Because I so desperately need to have my life completely altered by SOUND. I want to have my brain imploded by a blast of distorted drums; I want to fall in love with a singer's voice. I want my crotch to explode with yearning for that wild and innocent guitar howl. I want lyrics that will make me think that poetry is a living serpent whispering in my ear. I want to be transformed, transfixed, and transported. I want a lot, frankly. Sure, what whore doesn't? Who doesn't want the blushingly innocent rapture of their first joyous orgasm all over again?

This doesn't apply to just music, you know. It could be anything: movies, clothes, books, online fori, websites, fetish gear, japanese anime, transhuman modifications, military hardware, young virginal boys, whatever obsesses you. The need to touchtastehearsmellswallow becomes so strong that the only thing that matters is the acquisition of your obsession. Enjoying it is for some other monster; you've just got to HAVE IT. All other considerations are extraneous.

Rich Amtower and I were talking about music this morning and he was sharing with me some of his thoughts about Mago's Definitions of raw moments from a different perspective. We both took home copies of it from the same show less than two weeks ago. Rich has been listening to it, breaking it down, picking it apart -- enjoying it -- since then. Me? I've already forgotten that I bought it. It's still in the plastic wrap on my shelf. I've moved on.

Yeah, "bastard" is the correct word. The monkey is not on my back; I am the monkey.

We, in the West, know Kali Ma more as the Goddess of death and destruction -- as the devourer of worlds. We forget that she has three faces: creation, protection, and destruction. We see only the end and forget the beginning. If you spend all your time running, you never realize that the world is indeed curved and that you can't run away from the beginning, you can only get to the end faster.

"So rested he neath a tum tum tree / and stood a while in thought." No wonder Buddha got off the road.

Posted by Teppo at April 22, 2003 10:27 AM

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