"Music saved my life, man"

Remember back in my first post when I said I had a dysfunctional relationship with music? This is the time when I explore that a bit. Many people, when pressed, will revert to their interests to categorize themselves. For example, if I were on a date with a woman and I said "so, tell me about yourself," the woman, for the sake of this aside lets call her Samantha, would most likely say "I love fashion," instead of saying "I am very fashionable." One term shows her interest in fashion while the other, while more accurately answering the question, shows less about the person. The statement "I love fashion" opens up many more potential questions from the man across the table (me) but does it really mean anything? Someone who was interested in getting laid might try to engage this kind of shallow response with a question like "Really? Do you design your own clothes?" But if I were on a date with Samantha, I might ask her if she meant what she said.

Here is what I mean: I might say something like "Really, Sam, how much do you love fashion?" Or, more interestingly, "do you feel it is possible to love something that cannot love you back." But as I said above, if I were trying to get laid, this would not be the route I would travel.

Why would I so purposefully skewer a perfectly amicable conversation with questions of minutiae and vernacular? Because I have been on many dates and, more often than not, I will be asked to describe myself only to respond with the bland, blase' response "Well Samantha, I really love music." But as I get a little older and, hopefully, a little wiser, I wonder if this is a legitimate response. There was a time when I would not be able to tell someone how much I love music but it seems the older I get, the more my love of music boarders on a psychosis that becomes easier and easier to define. But it scares the bejesus out of me to do so.

Here is what I mean: Have you ever heard someone say that some kind of music saved their life? Have you ever been at a sweaty basement rager in the circle pit for a no name punk band and heard some skinny, tattooed dirtball with a multicolored, glue-lacquered Mohawk claim that punk rock saved his life. That, without the thrash of distortion and the visceral stomping wails of his punk rock gods, he would probably be lying dead in a ditch somewhere? Or some MTV gangbanger decked in the finest FUBU gear regaling his preteen audience with stories of his days as a Bed Sty crack dealer say "Hip Hop saved my life"?

As pretentious as these statements sound, I cannot help but be a little jealous. I would love to be able to say, without a hint of irony or satire, that music saved my life, man. Because I have loved music since I was a little kid pumping old Ray Charles and Roy Orbison tapes through my hand-me-down walkman, I would love to be able to describe my connection to pop music in such a simple, expedient way. But I can't. I can't even say that music has helped me through any particularly hard times. But still I dream.

So submitted for your approval, The Top 5 Ways I Hope Music Will One Day Save My Life. This list should help my dating conversation in the future.

1. I get pulled over by the police for some summary violation, running a stop sign perhaps, and the police officer, upon hearing my intelligent but eclectic musical selection, lets me go with just a warning, dancing along to the beat as I drive off.

2. My iPod is stolen and the perpetrator, upon hearing my diverse, classic yet progressive musical taste, returns my device with a thank-you note, describing how my musical choices went on to affect his life. I do not so much care if it changes him for the better or for the worse. If he listens to some of the more upbeat, new wave, indie pop or '60's bubblegum hits, he may straighten up and fly right. If he opts for some of my punk rock, rap or metal favorites, his criminal impulses may become magnified. But as I said, I don't really care.

3. I have had this fantasy about just about every girl I have ever dated. I dream that this girl (Samantha, perhaps) dumps me for Kevin, the captain of the football team and I am crushed. I spend days in my room all torn up over being dumped and, like all sad music fans, I lean on my only crutch: my record collection. After days of depressed but faithful listening, it hits me. I'll make her a mixtape. The perfect combination of songs to describe my love for her, her love for me, the private jokes we shared and, most importantly, the emotional connection of it all. This last bit is especially important. Since you are using someone else's art to explain how you feel, you must be careful of things like order, timing, pacing and mood. This mixtape is not truly effective unless it includes all songs that describe your feelings but also conveys that feeling as a whole, not just a sum of its parts. In the fantasy, Samantha finds me one day after work, and she is crying. She runs to me with the jewel case in her hands and says "I have listened to it 200 times and I have realized that I love you." She takes me back. Suck Shit, Kevin.

4. I have thought many times about being the DJ for a famous funk bands afterparty. A while back, Esquire published a story about a writer who got to attend one of Prince's famous blowouts. I always dreamed of being asked to pick the music for an event like that and being able to spin all the party albums that never get played at real parties by people my own age. I would show off my knowledge of the Disco era while spinning some new favorites (Jamiroquai, The Boogie Hustlers, Galactic) and some classic soul hits. After the party quieted at around 4am, the Purple One would approach me and ask me to make a playlist for him and his ladyfriend for the evening as they were headed to bed. I would do so and leave the party the happiest DJ alive.

5. This last one actually came true for me recently. I have always dreamed that my vast taste in music would catapult me forward in the working world. I have dreamed of a day when I would be driving my boss to a meeting or playing a stereo in the brakeroom and the boss would hear it and comment on it and the two of us would hit it off and I would develop further job security or perhaps even a promotion because of it. How did this come true for me? I was working at a pizza place in 2004. The job was easy enough but fast paced. I am a slow moving kid by nature and did not necessarily fit the pacing this shop deemed necessary. My smart ass bosses quickly nicknamed me rocket and I became the stuff of legend. But I was clueless as to how close I came to being fired after my first month working there. A few weeks after I started, my boss noticed that I was more interested in the music we were working to than the work getting done. He asked me to compile some songs for his wedding. He liked my choices so much, he played many of them at his wedding and chose one to be his official wedding song. He later told me that the only reason I didn't lose my job there after a month was because of my ability to converse on music and effectively choose music.


So I guess music did save my life after all. Or my job anyway. One dream down, four to go. Keep on dreaming, you fuckin dreamers.