I like half of my music because it makes me feel things, it helps me think and helps me focus. Some truthes seem more true when set to music. But, I can't help but feel like that's artificial, to let music manipulate my thoughts and emotions like that.
I like the other half of my music because it's fun, it's good to run to and better to dance to. The kind of music that's perfect for kitchen jam sessions while I'm doing the dishes, where I can appreciate the throbbing bass line or the resonate cello sounds.
One of the most frustrating feelings in our little culture bubble: when you hear a song you adore in passing, and then you're obsessed with it, and you listen to it twenty-seven times on repeat, and then you just chance to hear a part of the song you hadn't really been listening to before, and horrified you think, "Did they just say what I think I just heard?" And you can't listen to the song ever again. Because there's an ugly word smack dab in the middle of the awesome, and you just can't justify listening to the song anyway. And so your full-fledged love affair is cut off at the roots. It's a shame.
I'm not sure if this means I need lower standards or higher ones.
I feel like there's so much I've accepted, unchallenged, about music. I mean, yeah, I don't listen to swears, I don't listen to songs about sex, and I don't listen to music I don't like. I apply my Understanding the Times-learned worldview deciphering skills, and weed out the heretical or humanistic songs. I appreciate music for the lyrics and melody and instrumental & vocal skill and creativity. I try hard not to be mindless about listening to music, but . . . that's not enough, I don't think. I just don't really think enough about music, or the power it has over me, or why I love it so much, or how much I do love music.
There are just so many ways music has ministered to my soul, that, maybe I've tricked myself into giving it credit it doesn't deserve. That's all.