Ok for anyone who's interested, here's my final draft of a paper i've been working on. The subject is music and identity.
SPOILERS! (Click to view)
A Short History of Nearly Nothing
Someone holds me safe and warm, horses prance through a silver storm, figures dancing gracefully, across my memory. Anastasia, 1997.
I dont know of a time when music wasnt a heavy part of my life. I cant say for sure that such a time even existed. I would sit in my room for hours captivated by the music creeping into my ears from my headphones. Perhaps it was to be alone, or maybe because of its remarkable acoustics, but the most comfortable place in my room was the floor in the corner of my closet. I would wrap myself in my grandmothers giant white comforter with the pink rhododendrons and sit with the beat up leather case that housed the familys cassettes at my feet. It had survived college with my dad, multiple cross country moves, and now with only one functioning buckle, looked like a suitcase that had seen better days. I spent most days with that case propped open before me; craning my neck to read the labels, and letting the music wash over me.
Promises mean everything when youre little and the worlds so big. I just dont understand how you can smile at me with all those tears in your eyes and tell me everything is wonderful now. Everclear, 2000.
I was in fifth grade during my Christmas vacation from school when my parents told me they were getting a divorce. Shortly before my mom moved out, my father started seeing someone else, Meg. A short five months later, Meg and her two kids moved into our duplex. It was a whirlwind that left my special place in the closet overrun with Aeropostale sweatshirts and soccer gear shrapnel. My space was completely invaded. I spent most of my time lying on my bed listening to my old walkman, which had faded from a deep blue to a dirty grey, trying to drown out the sounds of the stranger who now shared my room. Music had become my retreat. We were fighting constantly and at the worst of it, violently. Things erupted when my soon-to-be-step-brother kicked me out of my room. I protested and he chased me down the hall, tackled me to the floor of the living room, and broke a plastic recorder over my arm. Its been ten years but the scar on my right forearm is still a constant reminder of that day and of a turbulent household. In 2004, my dad and Meg bought a house and were officially married. I started spending more and more time away from home to avoid the confrontations and ugly stares; looks that said youre not welcome here.
I still get laughed at, but it doesnt bother me, Im just so glad to hear laughter around me. Amanda Palmer, 2010
Have you ever walked down a loud hallway, and as you pass through, people get quiet? The quick glances out of the corner of someones eyes as they act like they arent looking at you and the muffled snickers as soon as they think youre out of earshot are enough to make even the most self-assured person nervous. Thats what living at my dads was like, and without my headphones to drown out the sound of the jury in my head, I would have given in to the feelings of worthlessness and self doubt. Ive learned to subdue the paranoia, and with the help of music, built an unwavering confidence in myself.
As four in the morning came on cold and boring we huddled close in the bus stop enclosure enfolding. Our hands tightly holding. The Decemberists, 2005
To get my mind off of my failing relationship with my dad, I joined every vocal group that I could; Concert Choir, Mixed Choir, Vocal Jazz, Madrigal, and Chamber Singers. It was a lot but it wasnt enough. I taught myself how to play piano, took a few guitar classes and some voice lessons. I eventually began to study opera technique and learned a few arias. Ironically, the first aria that I performed live was at the church where my father and step-mom were married.
I devoted nearly every waking moment to the study of music. After school and until one of my rehearsals began, I would hole up in one of the practice rooms. During the 3 hours between regular classes and rehearsals, the small 5 by 7 practice room with the Story and Clark upright piano in it was mine, and was mine everyday until I could play Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera. Words cannot describe the sense of accomplishment I felt when I could finally play the whole piece. It was addicting. I developed a thirst for music. It had gone from being a necessary way to tune out to being a blissful way to tune in to myself and the world. Six strings and eighty-eight keys were all the comfort I needed.
My days were filled with music and my nights were filled with sleep that was interrupted by my step-sisters cell phone piercing through my dreams. To escape, I started sneaking out almost every night. This was how I met my husband, Alex, so I suppose I am indebted to her. Alex and I spent most nights just walking around the streets of downtown Mount Horeb, which were abandoned in the late hour, holding each other to ease away the cold. We talked mostly about music, and one of the things I love about my husband is the excitement in his eyes when he hears the first few notes of a new song.
Music is my boyfriend, music is my girlfriend. Music is my dead-end, musics my imaginary friend. Music is my brother, music is my great-granddaughter. Music is my sister, music is my favorite mistress. - CSS, 2006
I pity those who dont give music a second listen or try to connect it to their lives. To me music has been a warm blanket of isolation, an escape from hell and self sabotage, and a way to express things deeper than I knew a person could feel. Music has interweaved itself with my soul and was the only stable thing in an unstable life. I want to be able to inspire people the way I have been inspired. I dont think there is a word for the exact feeling I want to recreate but if there was a word that combined inspired with alive, that would be the word. Perhaps Will Ferrells scrumtralescant would work.
Its the moment that wont let you down, its your scream when you cant make a sound, its all you see with the tears rolling down. Hurt, 2009.
The exact word doesnt matter, what matters is the feeling. Its the feeling that music is as essential to my being as water, that these songs are physically part of me. I share a blood supply with the instruments and sheet music. I inhale grace notes and exhale a decrescendo. My heart beats eighth notes and when Im playing or listening, the world ritardandos. Music has been essential in every phase of my life. It has seen me as a ten year old who sits alone in her closet, a taciturn teenager, and now continues to uncover who I am as an adult. Music was, is, and always will be, me.
A Short History of Nearly Nothing
Someone holds me safe and warm, horses prance through a silver storm, figures dancing gracefully, across my memory. Anastasia, 1997.
I dont know of a time when music wasnt a heavy part of my life. I cant say for sure that such a time even existed. I would sit in my room for hours captivated by the music creeping into my ears from my headphones. Perhaps it was to be alone, or maybe because of its remarkable acoustics, but the most comfortable place in my room was the floor in the corner of my closet. I would wrap myself in my grandmothers giant white comforter with the pink rhododendrons and sit with the beat up leather case that housed the familys cassettes at my feet. It had survived college with my dad, multiple cross country moves, and now with only one functioning buckle, looked like a suitcase that had seen better days. I spent most days with that case propped open before me; craning my neck to read the labels, and letting the music wash over me.
Promises mean everything when youre little and the worlds so big. I just dont understand how you can smile at me with all those tears in your eyes and tell me everything is wonderful now. Everclear, 2000.
I was in fifth grade during my Christmas vacation from school when my parents told me they were getting a divorce. Shortly before my mom moved out, my father started seeing someone else, Meg. A short five months later, Meg and her two kids moved into our duplex. It was a whirlwind that left my special place in the closet overrun with Aeropostale sweatshirts and soccer gear shrapnel. My space was completely invaded. I spent most of my time lying on my bed listening to my old walkman, which had faded from a deep blue to a dirty grey, trying to drown out the sounds of the stranger who now shared my room. Music had become my retreat. We were fighting constantly and at the worst of it, violently. Things erupted when my soon-to-be-step-brother kicked me out of my room. I protested and he chased me down the hall, tackled me to the floor of the living room, and broke a plastic recorder over my arm. Its been ten years but the scar on my right forearm is still a constant reminder of that day and of a turbulent household. In 2004, my dad and Meg bought a house and were officially married. I started spending more and more time away from home to avoid the confrontations and ugly stares; looks that said youre not welcome here.
I still get laughed at, but it doesnt bother me, Im just so glad to hear laughter around me. Amanda Palmer, 2010
Have you ever walked down a loud hallway, and as you pass through, people get quiet? The quick glances out of the corner of someones eyes as they act like they arent looking at you and the muffled snickers as soon as they think youre out of earshot are enough to make even the most self-assured person nervous. Thats what living at my dads was like, and without my headphones to drown out the sound of the jury in my head, I would have given in to the feelings of worthlessness and self doubt. Ive learned to subdue the paranoia, and with the help of music, built an unwavering confidence in myself.
As four in the morning came on cold and boring we huddled close in the bus stop enclosure enfolding. Our hands tightly holding. The Decemberists, 2005
To get my mind off of my failing relationship with my dad, I joined every vocal group that I could; Concert Choir, Mixed Choir, Vocal Jazz, Madrigal, and Chamber Singers. It was a lot but it wasnt enough. I taught myself how to play piano, took a few guitar classes and some voice lessons. I eventually began to study opera technique and learned a few arias. Ironically, the first aria that I performed live was at the church where my father and step-mom were married.
I devoted nearly every waking moment to the study of music. After school and until one of my rehearsals began, I would hole up in one of the practice rooms. During the 3 hours between regular classes and rehearsals, the small 5 by 7 practice room with the Story and Clark upright piano in it was mine, and was mine everyday until I could play Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera. Words cannot describe the sense of accomplishment I felt when I could finally play the whole piece. It was addicting. I developed a thirst for music. It had gone from being a necessary way to tune out to being a blissful way to tune in to myself and the world. Six strings and eighty-eight keys were all the comfort I needed.
My days were filled with music and my nights were filled with sleep that was interrupted by my step-sisters cell phone piercing through my dreams. To escape, I started sneaking out almost every night. This was how I met my husband, Alex, so I suppose I am indebted to her. Alex and I spent most nights just walking around the streets of downtown Mount Horeb, which were abandoned in the late hour, holding each other to ease away the cold. We talked mostly about music, and one of the things I love about my husband is the excitement in his eyes when he hears the first few notes of a new song.
Music is my boyfriend, music is my girlfriend. Music is my dead-end, musics my imaginary friend. Music is my brother, music is my great-granddaughter. Music is my sister, music is my favorite mistress. - CSS, 2006
I pity those who dont give music a second listen or try to connect it to their lives. To me music has been a warm blanket of isolation, an escape from hell and self sabotage, and a way to express things deeper than I knew a person could feel. Music has interweaved itself with my soul and was the only stable thing in an unstable life. I want to be able to inspire people the way I have been inspired. I dont think there is a word for the exact feeling I want to recreate but if there was a word that combined inspired with alive, that would be the word. Perhaps Will Ferrells scrumtralescant would work.
Its the moment that wont let you down, its your scream when you cant make a sound, its all you see with the tears rolling down. Hurt, 2009.
The exact word doesnt matter, what matters is the feeling. Its the feeling that music is as essential to my being as water, that these songs are physically part of me. I share a blood supply with the instruments and sheet music. I inhale grace notes and exhale a decrescendo. My heart beats eighth notes and when Im playing or listening, the world ritardandos. Music has been essential in every phase of my life. It has seen me as a ten year old who sits alone in her closet, a taciturn teenager, and now continues to uncover who I am as an adult. Music was, is, and always will be, me.
In other news, I've been itching to do a set. I just need to figure out something for a location...
kryptik:
you and me both sister (about the set thing)
creamcuffs:
I would give you an "A" on your paper. Let me know how it goes.