It's a true statement that this blog is about Jesus. It is also true that it's about me. Even still, this blog often concerns itself with music. I don't know much about music; I haven't heard much from before the rock age that is not a hymn, a Christmas song, or something unavoidably pervasive. That is a failing. I used to dislike classical music, because I thought pretentious snobs listened to it, but this is not always true. I enjoyed Holst's "The Planets" very much; another friend thought I'd really like Tchaikovsky (sp?) because of my affection for love songs and balladry; we'll see. But between 6 and 12, I heard this, this, and this most often. That's real music, son. I like tons of stuff, but in some way or another, it's all variations on a theme (whatever it is). You can't trust my opinion of music composed before 1960, largely because I am unfamiliar with most of it. I'm sorry. I will always bristle at the suggestion that training would cause me to disdain the music I like now; I can't even fathom that. It's one thing to have a little less affection for your Donny Osmond records than you once did; it's another to pretend it didn't matter at all. I'm just one of those "soundtrack to our lives" kind of people; songs aren't just songs. Some may be less heavy than others, some don't even make sense. But they all mean. I can't link you to the first song I thought of when I wrote that; I don't want to sob. But I'll tell you what it is: "The Living Years" by Mike and the Mechanics. Forget the keyboards and the bad hair, please. Just listen to the words. Realize what kind of moments write a song like that. Some people don't like that much emotion, that kind of pain. I think some people think they are not allowed to touch something so deep inside themselves. That's unfortunate.
Just be careful: Your "disgusting, saccharine-sweet" might be someone else's catharsis.
Just be careful: Your "disgusting, saccharine-sweet" might be someone else's catharsis.
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