Since I started writing about music, I have been trying to pull together a column that expresses why I find songs so magical, why they mean so much to me. To use words to persuade that person sitting out there, reading this and thinking “music just doesn’t excite me” that they should keep hunting, that at some point they will find that band or song or concerto that they fall in love with. To capture how one song can make you feel positively ecstatic while another crumples you up, maybe for good.
Each and every time I try this, I fail. I can’t find words that capture the feeling, it’s like trying to describe the colour black or the feeling you get from the first sip of the perfectly poured vanilla latte. I end up writing columns that are just dozens of examples of songs or musical moments that I adore but that, for all I know, may have no effect on anyone else. And I always end up trashing the article in frustration. However, the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that I’ve been missing the point all along.
There is no overarching theory. There are no words that will get this job done. There are only those moments of magic, there are only our personal reactions, and there are only descriptions. Sure, you can pick songs about, you can theorise that key changes create wave patterns that stimulate the cochlea or that the voice of Bon Jovi is scientifically proven to be an aphrodisiac to anyone wearing stonewash denim. But fundamentally all we are left with are the moments that matter to us. So I’m going to write a little bit about some of the moments that I love, and then I need to ask something of you all – I’d love you to email me or write in with yours. One persons Mozart is anothers Phil Collins and anothers Katy Perry, everything is as valid as everything else, as long as it makes your spine tingle. We’ll put them all together, put them on the website, and in 50 years time our children will be shocked that their parents loved Cheap Trick that much. So, to get the ball rolling, here are some of the things that I love:
– The way Jay-Z spits the opening bars of “99 Problems”. My favourite intro to any song. The words are exceptional, but the best thing about this song is the tone – Jay’s voice is the perfect blend of teacher, confidant, resigned hustler and swaggering superhero. The best bit of all? The way he calls in the beat with an imperious “hit me”. It’s his way of saying “I could go on a capella all day and this song would still kill, but when this beat drops it’s all over”. Just killer.
– That little crack in Ryan Adams’ voice. The musical equivalent of the Hillary Swank moment of defeat in “Million Dollar Baby” – it gets me every time. Sometimes Mr Adams doesn’t fully sing a note, instead using a cracking, hoarse whisper which manages to communicate lust, longing, despair, fear, hope and joy all at once. When he goes for it I feel like I’m in a lift dropping two floors a second while simultaneously kissing a beautiful girl and mourning the death of my grandmother.
– The first 10 seconds of “Broadcasting” by hardcore heroes Comeback Kid. The whole song is stellar, but the opening is a pure musical adrenaline shot. The drums clatter in, the guitars roar and singer Andrew Neufeld snarls “a common threat sits in our house”. And it makes me feel like I could climb a mountain or fight Mike Tyson or achieve anything I could possibly dream of. When God works out, this is his soundtrack.
– The line “you’re a wet martini in a paper cup” from “Wasp Nest” by The National. To me the only thing harder to pin down than the magic of music is the magic of a person that you love, like or admire. We try to, from the obvious (“man, she’s got great legs”) to the poetic (“she’s like the sun streaming through the clouds on a winters day”), but for my money no-one is better at this than Matt Berninger of The National. This description is both hugely opaque and totally understandable – it makes no sense, yet you know just what he means.
– The lead guitar line in “Warbrain” by The Alkaline Trio. The lyrics are about all things dark and stormy, but you’d know that without even hearing them. The spiralling guitar line perfectly echoes the rising and falling of the wind during a storm, the utter beauty with the hidden threat, the crackle of lightening and the rumble of thunder. I once listened to this song about a dozen times in a row during a storm-swept bus ride in Scotland, and… man, that was something else.
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