Let nothing come in between me and him. Let no one interfere in what can only be called a bond sacred and divine. I am morbidly possessive about many a worldly thing, but if you come in between me and my music, be warned, I might even bite off more than I can chew, maybe even a literal piece of you!
I didn’t know this side of me. When I hear a particular kind of music, I feel like It owns me and for some strange reason, I feel like I own it. So when a random individual makes a ‘cover version’ of my favorite song, I get livid. It makes for sacrilege beyond comprehension and makes me want to do a China and ban all forms of YouTube.
Pardon my supposed disdain for all things that are seemingly ‘creative expression and freedom thereof’, but some songs must not be touched; like some idols must remain in a place of worship and some expensive China must remain in the glass cabinet in my grandma’s living room. So, if you don’t take your new Audi for a dirt laced trek trip, or drink a lovely expensive cognac in an earthen pot of clay, you mustn’t try and sing in forced accapella a song that was meant for percussion or vice versa. It’s like you are disturbing and violently so, the balance of the Universe, (or the balance of my bubble, whichever is easier to understand!).
So, yes, I may be music Nazi, but I’d prefer if you called me music’s lover, jealous flame or possessive beau. If I form a bond with a particular piece, I will nurture it, take it out on special occasions, flaunt it in a public gathering, and mostly just enjoy its company in my solitude. Like a lover does a beautiful partner.
Music sings to me. A strange concept, since that is what it does, or supposed to do: as a matter of fact. But here I talk of music the noun not the verb. Music like a man, not a compilation of notes: It soothes, heals, comforts, induces a good cry, a happy laugh, brings back memories and feelings and alters my very being in more ways than comprehendible.
I may not have sung it, discovered it, or arranged and composed it even remotely, but it is MY song. My very own lovely song: It is mine to do as I please. I will ruin many a technological objects listening to the song on a perpetual loop if I must, but I will make it an extension of my very self.
Glee, its identicals and its offshoot minions may have suddenly brought the Accapella scene to be trendy, but that does not translate into an acaapellisation of all the worlds’ music. I do not stand against it, as a concept, but only if you don’t mess with my songs!
When a man (or woman) makes music, they make it as a man creates offspring, an extension and part of themselves. Thus to let that piece remain the way it was intended is to render utter respect for those who have put their heart and soul into it.
My music is my happy place, my sanctuary and my escape. It is my friend and confidant and lover. Leave us be in our special space, Just us and our two chairs. For one is for solitude, two is for company and three is for society: and I don’t want to engage with society just yet, when I have my lovely by my side, body and soul, headphones to ear, iPod on loop!
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