My music allergy

“The problem is that the deeper you go into your own [music] writing, the harder it becomes to enter someone else’s. If pursued seriously, [music] writing demands a kind of obsessive concentration that came, at least for me, to preclude reading [listening].”

**The above is adapted from the New York Times Book Review “Bookends” section: “Is it harder to be transported by a book as you get older?” It’s by Benjamin Moser, one of the writers offering their perspective on the above topic. While the topic itself was only mildly interesting to me, those words sounded a responsive chord. 

It’s not about reading vs writing per se. But about listening to music vs writing it. While I was an avid listener in my youth, I also began writing music. As the years, and the songs, went by, I gradually developed an unexpected quirk: I found it almost impossible to simply listen to music for enjoyment, especially popular music in all its phases and forms though the years.  

Recently in an effort to get more fit I realized that fast music tends to rev up my cardio workouts. After a brief flirtation with Eminem (sparked by curiosity about that form for a project I’m working on), I fell back to Oldies. But in spite of the salutary effects of listening to music while I strained to raise my heart rate, I still found it more tolerable to listen to podcasts, especially long interviews.  (And my heart rate probably suffers)

Until Moser’s statement above, articulating the reason for my music phobia has been difficult. I’ve usually attributed it to guilt and shame that I hadn’t developed into a proper musician when young. There were seemingly good reasons at the time – family to support, relationships to maintain, available jobs that could be turned into careers, a long religious captivity and knowing the statistical odds against success. I still consider them valid reasons for drifting away from listening to music. But not my discomfort when listening.

Music is like a drug for me. I’m drawn to it like addicts to chemicals in their bloodstream. Background music is the worst. It feels like an assault. Distracts me, makes it hard to concentrate on people and tasks in front of me. I feel myself being drawn into a vortex where every detail – musical, lyrical, production – attempts to grab me by the brain and lead me away. The ensuing struggle to stay present tends to upset and confuse me until I wrest control. Sounds kind of psycho doesn’t it? But maybe not. Maybe I can be proud of it! Maybe it’s just an “occupational” hazard, a temperamental quirk that some creative people share.

For half of the time I lived in California I had the opportunity to work with a partner, Rick Martinez, to produce a few dozen of my earlier songs. We worked under the name of Ramona StGeorge (the names of our respective streets) and dragooned his musician friends into recording with us. Though I wasn’t always pleased with the way the vocals turned out, I’m grateful they’ve been preserved in some recorded form. And yet, even they stay outside my cone of musical silence.

The only musical exercise I get these days is banging on the piano or guitar while singing with my granddaughter, something I greatly enjoy. The songs are easy and my primitive playing abilities are adequate for us both to have a good time. If I ever finish writing the extended rap I’ve been working on for a while I may get back into music creation, although it may be just a simplistic building of “beats” behind a chattering vocalist. For the time being it's the likes of "Clementine" and podcasts that will substitute for music.