I’ve always been a big music fan. I remember the Beatles’ Ed Sullivan appearance vividly. I thrilled to the Monkees. I listened to the radio, played 45s on my portable record player and danced along with the TV dance shows from the earliest years I can remember.
One of my first big dollar purchases was a component stereo system. Any spare money was routinely split between books and music. I bought vinyl records, cassette tapes, compact discs and digital files, missing the eight-track format only because it came and went so swiftly. My music library has been built and rebuilt repeatedly.
It seems that every single year of my life has a sound track.
During the last ten to twenty years, though, I slowly drifted away from listening to music. It wasn’t intentional; it just happened. Life encroached, and television time expanded. One day, pondering an extended downturn in my mood, I realized I hadn’t listened to music—selected music I loved and really listened to it—in a long, long time.
I resolved to listen to music more often. Oddly enough, I had to work at it a bit. Like any other good habit, it took a while to take root. But this reconnection—to the music itself, my own profound enjoyment of it and my appreciation of the role music has played in my life—has lifted me up. It seems I not only love music; something in my soul actually feeds on it.
This morning’s musical interlude was classic Joni Mitchell: the album “For the Roses.” Her lyrics are sheer poetry, and her voice still thrills me. An excerpt:
Banquet
Lyrics by Joni Mitchell
Come to the dinner gong
The table is laden high
Fat bellies and hungry little ones
Tuck your napkins in
And take your share
Some get the gravy and
Some get the gristle
Some get the marrow bone
And some get nothing
Though there’s plenty to spare