Save My Soul
Thanks to my brothers-in-arms for their supportive words. I'm happy to report that I have indeed not stopped believing. In fact, my previous entry was inspired by the re-realization of how powerful music can be. I had been going through one of my all-too-frequent periods of despondency when I slipped in one of my Mission of Burma CD's and it started a stirring within me that I hadn't felt for some time. It probably hadn't helped that I had been immersing myself in the smooth harmonies of Brian Wilson and playing the accordion more than the guitar for the past couple of weeks, or been in a house where there's much more exposure to musical theater and easy listening than there ever was in my apartment. I'd been stringing myself along on melody and been increasingly critical of my own technical proficiency (or lack thereof). Earlier that day, I'd been wondering what I would need to do to learn to play and sing like Jeff Buckley.
I needed to be reminded why Lennon is my favorite Beatle. I needed to be reminded why I own every Replacements album, but I can't stand much of the later ones. I needed to be reminded of the place that jagged guitars and screams of frustration have at the foundation of my musical world. I needed to grab my Strat and return it to its rightful tuning, one half-step down.
I've often struggled with the question of how much time and energy I should give to music. I feel guilty to some extent, because I feel that at heart I am not a musician. My first love was always visual art, and I feel like I'm betraying that if I'm spending my time with a guitar rather than a brush. There have been a lot of times when I've seriously considered giving up my music because it's taking too much energy away from things that I suspect might be more important. When I have an experience like that day, though, it reaffirms that music is part of me after all. Deep down, I may not be a musician; but I am a rock 'n' roller.