Today’s prompt: Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?
I’m not sure at what point I realized that I actively hate music. I will do almost anything to avoid listening to it. If I’ve heard the music before, it’s irritating to hear it again. Every time it deviates from the original version that I listened to, it feels as though I’ve tripped over a branch in my path and I’m about to fall. If the piece is new to me, it’s too distracting to do anything but listen, and so I quickly move away or muffle the sounds.
I do, however, enjoy occasionally making up a melody and fitting a poem to it. I like to sing, to feel the air moving in and out, the tension in my muscles, the support of my diaphragm, the vibration of my vocal cords, my throat, the “almost echo” of the sound in my sinus cavities.
I enjoyed the feeling of the cornet’s mouthpiece as I played scales, lowest to highest range and back again. And the French horn as I worked to find the precise feeling of fullness for each note.
I love the twisting of my wrists and the way my fingers tap or, in turn, caress piano keys as I play “Maple Leaf Rag”. My racing fingers move up and down the keyboard, playing three- or four-octave arpeggios, major and minor keys, faster and faster, until my fingers trip over one another and I collapse in laughter. There is that breathless excitement and a need to rest just a little bit . . . before I do it all over again.
Songs that mean something to me? No! None!
But I revel in the patterns of my body as it creates new dances.