One of the most useless way anyone can live is to love just one music genre. “Rock is the only real music these days”. “Oh, but the only way to listen to music is classics”. Please. That is like placing yourself in a 10×10 cell and expect to have new experiences every time you listen to THE CHOSEN music. I used to be like that too, in my early teenage years and naturally, more than 10 years later, I know better now. If you, dear reader, do not yet, please continue reading, perhaps this will change your perspective.
Just to test myself, I’ve deliberately spent a day with supposedly opposing music genres.
It started out with something like this (on real vinyl player, no less) in a restaurant with a glass of Italian chardonnay:
Rarely one listens to vinyls in a public eatery and not get tagged hipster. Oh, but it was hipster, for sure, but the good kind, where old mixed seamlessly with new and delivers something magical. I myself come from (assumably) long line of farmers, so rustic farmhouse style adapted to my modern minimalist taste was a great experience, but the music completed it. Trumpets have this sometimes playful, other times dreamy effect, like a bird’s song in the distance.
Next came this, performed live on stage during jazz festival (same day still, QUITE cold weather):
The cold weather had nothing to do when this song started and dissipated somewhere, replaced by warmth from deep within. Funk has that effect and with this voice, it becomes fluffy, like a fireplace from a speaker. Many people were there, cold and shivering, waiting to be warmed up, but then the music flowed and everyone starter moving. It was magical.
Finally, there was this, in an old fort that didn’t see such lively days even during the heat of the war:
Techno after funky dream was a huge change. Space dungeon, on the other hand, was so masterfully crafter that the transition for my ears was seamless. “Space” was the destination for my brain while dancing in a bunker, surrounded by people, lights and smoke.
Some people need drugs to feel the music. I just need the music to be…well…THE drug. Then it takes me away, either to a warm place from a cold spring evening, or to another dimension from an old bunker, transformed for a night to a rave venue. All of this music in less than 12 hours and I offer, dear reader, one single conclusion: the genre doesn’t matter. Why would it? Each piece of music is there, for 3 or more minutes, to transfer you into the world of its creator. Weather it’s a warm place by the fire or a completely unfamiliar place in time and space – it all depends on how far you want to go.
P.S.: Mind you, everything seems very silent the next day, it’s eerie.