I'm having one of those days where I am so hungry to hear a particular song I have to keep re-starting it before it's even finished. It's like I can't really hear it and it's so good so I keep having to start it again to try and appreciate it more the next time around.
I'm not musical at all, though I do have an acoustic guitar, I can't really play. I certainly can't sing which I find perpetually disappointing as I feel that I was born with the personality of a performer and yet, I have nothing to perform. I know writing is of course a kind of performance and yes, I have been bored with that particular brand of literary criticism before. But writing isn't - hmm, this is interesting because I started by wanting to write writing isn't sexy which I don't believe at all and then that writing isn't transcendent which again I also don't believe. It's hard to explain what the tangible differences are between music and writing when at their essence they have much in common.
The other night I was with someone and we were listening to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. He told me that Stevie Nicks had been sleeping with the drummer at the time and asked him to commit to her and he didn't want to so Dreams was written in response to this. He told me that there are these lines in it
But listen carefully To the sound of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had
and throughout the song you have the drums playing steadily like a heartbeat. And that the song became so popular the drummer was always behind her playing his out 'heartbeat' as she sang it. I really can't stop listening to this song and I love the idea of this. It reminded me of something I'd totally forgotten about but that years ago when a guy dumped me I painted the dress I was supposed to wear to this dinner we were meant to go to together. I had a photograph of him which I'd been drawing from and remember ripping up the photo of his face and sticking it down on the canvas to create the texture of the dress and then painting over it so my act of violence was hidden. I haven't thought about it in years but I did after my friend told me about this song and it made me laugh and laugh. He loved the painting - the guy I gave it to - and he actually still has it, still loving it, not knowing its foundation is a ripped up photo of his face.