Let the music heal your soul

I’m a bit of a music junkie (all: No, really?) and from that perspective I strongly believe music is the highest of all art forms. It’s not that I don’t appreciate paintings, statues or photographs, because I do (well, specific photographs). It’s just that at a certain point they just get boring. Books and movies are in the same category as music but, unlike music they are of a more difficult material to work with. A normal pop song generally takes 4 minutes to digest, while a book or movie takes at least 2 hours. It’s true that this means that music can pass you by much quicker than a book, but it also means you can revisit it much easier and more frequently.

The part that I love most about pop music are the lyrics. Granted, not all lyrics, a lot of them are pretty darn bad (all: The Ketchup song!) but sometimes you run across some really nice lines. For some people it’s tough to follow the lyrics, but when you do, the lines do stuff for you. When you’re feeling good they help you feel better, when you feel crap because you’ve been dumped or something, they make you feel… well… less crap. And in case of a light depression (or in my case severe post-teenage angst) it works too, but it’s more difficult.

Problem in that category is that a lot of my favourite artists fail me there in subject matter. Although Ben Folds comes pretty close (“All I know is I’ve got to be/ Where my heart says I ought to be/ It often makes no sense/ In fact I never understand these things I feel” – Don’t change your plans), he loses me when writing about abortion and joining the army. Ryan Adams is a genius but most of the time too self-centred and Jason Mraz is just too darn sweet. Zucchero is God but his songs are all about either being happy because you love someone or being sad because you love someone, which are pretty interesting subjects, but sadly enough in angst- and depression-fighting he falls short.

Which is why I thank God on my knees at least once a month (or in bad months twice) for giving the world Bruce Springsteen.

When you’re down, listening to a Springsteen compilation is like having this guy sitting next to you, hand on your shoulder, saying “Dude, I feel your pain”. Bruce has either been there himself (Human Touch, Born to Run) or he knows loads of people who have (The River, Born in the U.S.A., Streets of Philadelphia, Darkness on the Edge of Town). He gives you lines like “Everything dies/ baby that’s a fact/ but maybe everything that dies/ someday comes back” (Atlantic City), “Will you walk with me out on the wire/ ‘Cause baby I’m just a scared and lonely rider” (Born to Run) and “Roy Orbison singing for the lonely/ Hey, that’s me and I want you only” (Thunder Road), lines which match your mood. But he also gives you “Glory Days”, “Dancing in the Dark” and “Waitin’ On A Sunny Day”, songs that can’t help but cheer you up completely. It’s a bit of an addiction this music thing, but some folks like to use alcohol to fight their problems, I buy Springsteen albums. I'm not sure it'll work forever but for right now it does and at the end of the day, I think we spent about the same amount of money… but my liver still works.

Of course Springsteen occasionally misses a beat (all: If he goes on about Crazy Janey one more time we’ll hit him! With a baseball bat! Hard! And often!) but when he does, he comes right back and hits me between the eyes with something like this:

Now a life of leisure and pirate’s treasure
Don’t make much for tragedy
But it’s a sad man my friend who’s living in his own skin
And can’t stand the company
Every fool’s got a reason for feeling sorry for himself
And turning his heart to stone
Tonight this fool’s halfway to heaven and just a mile out of hell
And it feels like I’m coming home…