Tenacious Tiger #9
I grew up in a musical family. My Aunt was my music tutor from the time that I was in second grade, so I grew up using songs as a way to pack things away into the duffle bag of my memory. Some people take pictures to remember different phases of their life, but I've always used music. To this day, all it takes is a few notes of a certain song to make feelings and ideas flood to the forefront of my brain, making me remember the exact slice of time as if I was there living it again.
I Do It For You -- Bryan Adams:
Look into my heart, you will find
There's nothin' there to hide
Take my as I am, take my life
I would give it all, I would sacrifice
I was wearing a charcoal grey suit, unfitted, that was purchased in a hurry. The putrid scent of dozens of different flowers was overwhelming as you sat in the pews. Maybe it was the perfume of all the women there, as well. I kept my head down and listened to a pastor speak about the accomplishments of my father, and how he now will look after my sister and I from above. The clip-on tie I was wearing was pushing against the already gigantic lump in my throat. Before they played the song, some people spoke about how they remembered my father and what he meant to them. But I just sat there, wondering what I would do next in life, sizing up the legacy I had to live up to.
Sidewinder -- Lee Morgan
A simple piano lick opens with a nice kicked-back drum beat. It's calm and relaxing, just the two little sounds toying with one another. The rest of the band just sits back and waits while Kyle and D-Rock do their thing. Then WHAM, the crowd gets a nice wake-up call in an instant as 15 trombones, saxes, and trumpets drop the fattest, rowdiest, loudest note they can. (The goal of that note, as the band members would explain, was to create such a shocking and startling sound that it would make all the babies in the crowd cry.) Then, back to business as usual, a driving beat replaces the old one as David and I trade fours with one another. I'd make a statement, he'd try to top it, then I'd show him who's boss, all using my sax and his trumpet. We toyed with one another for a minute or two, then the rest of the band joined in until David and I reached our featured solos. But as the song winded its way to the end, I realized that I would when it was done, I would never pick up my sax again. Ten years of practicing, playing, and sweating came to a grand censura of a finale. I ended my playing career with the best performance I had ever managed to put together, and I was pleased to walk away on top of the world.
These are but a few examples of how songs open my memory banks. Maybe it was my musical upbringing, or maybe I'm just a freak, but for me, music makes anything possible. It lets me speak to my father, it lets me communicate with friends from the past. It just lets me be me.
I Do It For You -- Bryan Adams:
Look into my heart, you will find
There's nothin' there to hide
Take my as I am, take my life
I would give it all, I would sacrifice
I was wearing a charcoal grey suit, unfitted, that was purchased in a hurry. The putrid scent of dozens of different flowers was overwhelming as you sat in the pews. Maybe it was the perfume of all the women there, as well. I kept my head down and listened to a pastor speak about the accomplishments of my father, and how he now will look after my sister and I from above. The clip-on tie I was wearing was pushing against the already gigantic lump in my throat. Before they played the song, some people spoke about how they remembered my father and what he meant to them. But I just sat there, wondering what I would do next in life, sizing up the legacy I had to live up to.
Sidewinder -- Lee Morgan
A simple piano lick opens with a nice kicked-back drum beat. It's calm and relaxing, just the two little sounds toying with one another. The rest of the band just sits back and waits while Kyle and D-Rock do their thing. Then WHAM, the crowd gets a nice wake-up call in an instant as 15 trombones, saxes, and trumpets drop the fattest, rowdiest, loudest note they can. (The goal of that note, as the band members would explain, was to create such a shocking and startling sound that it would make all the babies in the crowd cry.) Then, back to business as usual, a driving beat replaces the old one as David and I trade fours with one another. I'd make a statement, he'd try to top it, then I'd show him who's boss, all using my sax and his trumpet. We toyed with one another for a minute or two, then the rest of the band joined in until David and I reached our featured solos. But as the song winded its way to the end, I realized that I would when it was done, I would never pick up my sax again. Ten years of practicing, playing, and sweating came to a grand censura of a finale. I ended my playing career with the best performance I had ever managed to put together, and I was pleased to walk away on top of the world.
These are but a few examples of how songs open my memory banks. Maybe it was my musical upbringing, or maybe I'm just a freak, but for me, music makes anything possible. It lets me speak to my father, it lets me communicate with friends from the past. It just lets me be me.
posted by Anonymous at 6:27 AM
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