That state of mind...

...Weekend Anna

Play it again...

Music is slowly creeping back into my life. It never really left, but for the last three years or so it was pushed aside by various duties--studying, working, writing, planning, growing up. I'm not sure I like the way that sounds--like music was something infantile and unimportant, easy to put into a box and forget about--but to some extent it's the truth, and I just can't think of a sweeter way to put it. See, music has been part of my life for as far back as I can remember--the Beatles, Bruce, Billy Joel and Juice Newton all bring back memories of my childhood. And then there was the interest in musical theater. Peter Pan was the first show I saw on Broadway. I was six. I don't remember much from the show, just Cathy Rigby flying up near the balcony near the end of the show and the neon Joe Camel sign glowing outside the second floor lobby. Les Miserables, the Lion King, 42nd Street, Jersey Boys and Hair have followed, not to mention the touring shows I've seen throughout the Midwest (The Wizard of Oz, Footloose, Wicked, Rent, the Phantom of the Opera). I never considered myself to be a fan of musical theater, but recent reflection on this point has caused me to reconsider that notion. In any event, piano lessons soon followed, and then came the horn. I was in fourth grade and had to pick an instrument for band--I almost immediately gravitated towards the french horn, due to the fact that I loved the way it sounded in Peter and the Wolf (I had an illustrated book and cassette tape of the story that I listened to on a regular basis). Plus, no one else was signing up for the french horn. I never could understand why--it sounds lovely but it's also visually stunning, the metal all looped and twisted together with that brilliant bell at the end. Anyways, band gave way to private lessons, youth orchestras, competitions, summer camps, all-state bands and orchestras and soon I was considering heading off to college as a music major.

I need to back up for a minute and note that something else was happening concurrently with my growing love of playing the horn--I developed an insatiable taste for the sound of guitars and drums. While my love of rock was most likely always present, it exploded after a week at camp, the summer before I entered high school. I was taking a music class and the instructor was sick, so a young camp counselor filled in. Instead of teaching us Bach, he taught us about the Beatles. It was magic...I can still hear him playing the piano and all of us singing Hey Jude. When I returned home I went through all of my mom's records, and well, the rest is simple--live concerts as often as possible (conning my way in when I didn't have enough money or wasn't old enough), scraping together lunch money to buy the newest White Stripes album (it was the only time I ever seriously considered shoplifting something) and spending my Friday nights interning at the local independent radio station. Those shows were some of the best moments of my life--the White Stripes, the Soundtrack of Our Lives, Weezer, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Pete Yorn, whatever I could get in to. I loved those experiences...but it was a very childish love. I always fancied myself above those around me just there for the booze and socializing...I was there for the music. But, really, was I?

And then college...instead of music I majored in academia and literature-in-a-hurry, and by the time I was halfway through my sophomore year, my horn was put stashed in my closet and I no longer played in ensembles or orchestras. I don't regret those choices, my passions in life extend to so much more than music (just ask me about the American Revolution, I dare you). But lately, as I've thought about this and started falling back into my love (my record player is back in my possession, my horn is getting repaired in the city as I'm writing this, music documentaries have grabbed my attention again, and I've been to four shows in the last six months, with tickets purchased for another show in October), and I'm finding it a lot easier to reconcile my adult self with this love. Sure, it's still all about the music...but this time I mean it.


...Weekend Anna