Thursday, December 27, 2007

Wait (They Don’t Love You Like I Love You): A Brief Outline of a Meager Mix-Tape




It is hard, sometimes (well, most times), to pin-point exactly why it is that I love music so much. I’m not going to do so here, as that would negate my previous statement, but the static, merciless joy that I am able to receive from a silly little album is not something I tend to take lightly. To romanticize this art form, though, is as arbitrary as anything else.

If it’s escapism that I crave, then what really is the difference between me waxing poetic about a piece of music and someone who spends their days prodding and analyzing the actions of Britney Spears and Paris Hilton? Both actions serve as vents for the brain. Both actions provide a vacation from reality—if just for a short while. Both actions possess a distancing of yourself from your very nature, while coddling your most apparent gratifications.

So, is it comfort, maybe? Even in that instance, though, you can make the same contrasts and comparisons to the feelings you may be gifted while examining or experiencing just about any form of entertainment. Everyone is different, receiving different comfort from different things and all of that.

My point is that, for all of my feasting of thoughts; for all of my dramatic comparisons; for all of my pretensions and searing vindications, life breeds the art that you hold up. It is pointless, then, for me (in particular) to analyze why or how the medium of music became my poison (if you will) in the grand scope of this existence. The mere fact that it has become so is enough for me to entrench myself in its warming vibrations and appreciate just what it is I have to look forward to. I both enjoy and write (non-professionally) about music not to validate my thoughts or my misgivings about anything in particular. I do this to revel in an art form I do not and may never truly, fully understand. I’m just searching for treasure in the dark here. I have no map. I have no light but that which is occasionally provided to me. The joys, the comfort, and the escapism I find are all happy accidents in an otherwise tiring journey.

Over the next few days I will be outlining what I feel were the best albums of 2007. The rankings are my opinion and hold no special weight in regards to…anything. I invite you, though, to come with me, and bask in the light of creature comforts, empty spaces, and damning contradictions. It should be a lot of fun.

(Please keep reading below...)

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