When the mood strikes her, she could dance anywhere.
Most days she wakes with a tune in her head. Something she listened to the previous day, something inexplicably resurfaced from years ago, or something triggered by a dream. She sings in the shower, dances in the kitchen, all the way to her front door. Waiting for the train with her earphones in makes her commute a pleasure, not a chore. Walking down the platform in time to the rhythm that’s resounding in her ears makes her feel invincible, somehow, as though she is tuned in to something greater than herself. Moving to a beat is powerful; that’s why they had drums on boats, that’s why soldiers march in time. It makes the movement greater than it is by itself. She has to concentrate on not singing along to the music in her ears as she walks down the street, or walking around the shops, or when she sits at her desk.
When she feels down, she puts on something uplifting. It’s hard to be sad with a happy melody in her ears. When she feels good, she picks something that enhances that. When she’s anxious or scared or worried, she has music to soothe her. Morning, afternoon, evening, or late into the night, with friends, family, a lover, or alone, she has music to hand for every combination of circumstance and company.
She’s more likely to cry listening to a song than watching a movie, tears of joy or sadness or pain or reminiscence or longing. She’s often grinning in public because of what she can hear through her earphones. To her it is a small miracle when the words and the music of a song come together to describe an emotion she can completely relate to.
Some of the happiest moments in her life are when she can concentrate on the music. Next to live music, being on a dance floor is the next best thing. If she likes the music, she’ll barely visit the bar. She’ll lose all concept of time. If there’s room, she’ll close her eyes and lose herself, moving to the beat and the melody. If she knows the words, she’ll sing along. She’s a terrible dancer. Not graceful, not sexy. Uncoordinated and clumsy. But she doesn’t care. She lets the music wash over her and loses her self-consciousness.
And live music stirs something in her. Whether it’s one person producing something beautiful by themselves, or a band or orchestra unified in creating a harmony of sound, the riskiness of performing something that could go wrong, the immediacy and impermanence of the art stirs her. In the moment there is nothing else in the world but the music- for her, for all the other people listening. It unites them, strangers bound by a common ecstasy. Singing along with a crowd, each person individually relating to the music in their own way, despite their differences. To her it is the ultimate of being alive and in a moment.
About ‘rave’
This piece is completely autobiographical. I started it months ago as a piece of fiction but it felt dishonest trying to attribute my own feelings to a character. I was unhappy with it so I left it for a while, but a conversation about music with a new friend made me want to explain how it makes me feel in much more detail than I could at the time. Here’s the result.
(Suggested listening for this piece, if you’re interested… ‘Spark’, by Amber Run.)
