The Awesome Power of Music

"What kind of music do you listen to?"

That's a pretty loaded question. Much like asking someone's religion, or their political party...these are questions that people use to get a read on you. Your answer pigeonholes you and allows the asker to put you into a category of either "I agree with you," "I don't agree with you at all," or "I don't necessarily agree with you but am intrigued by you." These are questions I hate with every fiber of my being, primarily because I can't stand to be categorized. At least in the case of music, I can honestly say that I listen to a little bit of just about everything - even the genres I don't consider myself a fan of such as opera and country contain some exceptions that I truly love. I've often wondered what the common thread is among my bizarrely disparate tastes, and the best way I can think of to articulate it is that I love music that MOVES me. As with any art form, I happen to believe that anyone that is too good at articulating why they like one work over another is spending too much time talking and too little actually allowing the item in question to do what it's meant to do. But why do certain types of music, or particular songs, move me more than others? Why do they seem to reach to the very core of me and make me do or feel things that I normally don't or can't?

Case in point: I have fairly recently come to the conclusion that the song "Under Pressure" is arguably the greatest rock song in the history of mankind. I've listened to it many times now in an attempt to figure out why, and my reasons are as follows:

1. The interplay of very simple elements. That simple bass riff that starts the whole thing off (Vanilla Ice's sampling/imitation of which I personally believe has earned him an extra special room in hell), with a few piano chords, hand claps, snaps, and a few wandering guitar notes flitting in and around that framework. David Bowie's rich and grounded tone contrasting with the manic quality of Freddie Mercury's. Nonsense lyrics - sometimes the best we can manage, particularly in times of duress, is something along the lines of, "Um ba ba bay Um ba ba bay Dee day duh Ee day duh." Seriously.

2. This verse:

Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance?
Why can't we give love that one more chance?
Why can't we give love give love give love?
Give love give love give love give love give love give love?
Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care
For the people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way
Of caring about ourselves
This is our last dance

This is ourselves
Under Pressure

3. The changes in tone as we reach this point. This is a song with a plot - it alternately swells and recedes, soars and trickles. How many songs REALLY have a climax? A true beginning, middle, and end? A story is clearly told in these 4 minutes, but you'd never know it by looking at the lyrics. I can't speak for anyone else, but every time I listen to it, I feel like I've taken a trip...I've been through an emotional journey. It's an incredibly evocative song, and it always leaves me feeling relieved because it has somehow gotten into my heart and extracted some of the worry and pain that I've tucked away in there, far away from anyone's sight, including my own.

This is what I'm talking about. Music sneaks up on me all the time - how can a song that you've completely forgotten about instantly and unmistakably call up such vivid emotional memory? When I was in high school orchestra, I played many concerts a year, and I certainly can't remember titles and composers of every piece I've ever played, but when I hear a piece I once played come on the radio or out of an instrument, I don't just remember the melody, I remember how it felt to PLAY that piece. I remember fingerings, and bowings, and I feel the resonance of the notes in my chest as though my violin were on my shoulder, not packed away in my parents' house in Virginia. It's not hard to sympathize with amputees having phantom sensations in their lost limbs whenever I get that feeling - it seems like the most natural thing in the world. It's not my brain that's remembering the music, it's my BODY.

My body also tells me what does and does not constitute good dance music. Certain songs, when played on the radio or my computer, spontaneously make my ass shake. There's nothing I can do about it - it is an unstoppable force, as though my ass suddenly has a mind of its own and I take my life and sanity into my hands by attempting to deny it. At a recent family wedding, my mom marveled at my seemingly boundless energy on the dance floor. I can't seem to convey to her that when the right music comes on, I am physically incapable of leaving a dance floor. Culprits range from "Jungle Boogie" by Kool and the Gang to "It Takes Two" by Rob Base to "Hey Ya!" by Outkast. And should you ever be within 10 yards of me when "Da Butt" by E.U. comes over a sound system, I have two words for you: DUCK and COVER.

Sometimes it's more about a mood than a gut- (or ass-) based feeling. On Friday, I was watching a piece on the Today show about some dolphins that had been rescued from certain death after Hurricane Katrina, and they have now been happily living under good care and apparently have successfully delivered calves. At the point in the story where they related this tidbit of information, the editors of the piece cleverly inserted "Let's Get it On" into the soundtrack. I have proclaimed my love of this song on here before, but again, it's not about the lyrics - those opening notes say all that needs to be said, and in this case a fairly mundane story became vastly more entertaining through the judicious use of Marvin Gaye.

Soundtracks in general, when done well, do an amazing job of harnessing this phenomenon and using it against us. I have an ever-growing playlist of music from Scrubs, because I find myself saying to myself, "wow...I need that song" so often while watching the show. The TV soundtrack thing is often criticized now because there are so many shows using them as a cop-out - the addition of music so effectively elicits a reaction from an audience that it allows the actors to be lazy. Last night I watched the movie Goonies with a friend of mine who had never seen it as a kid. While I can no longer watch that movie with quite the same youthful abandon I once did - my inner adult can't help but notice that the product placements are incredibly clumsy, the verses on the map are written in Spanish but only rhyme when translated into English, and seriously, they HAD to know what they were doing when they decided to name the pirate One-Eyed Willy, right??? - when the credits roll and Cyndi Lauper kicks in singing, "What's good enough for you is good enough for me it's good enough it's good enough for me yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah..." I am 8 years old again and desperately wanting some pirate treasure to chase. A couple of years later, the Billboard Top 10 Hits of 1987 contains a song called "At This Moment" by Billy Vera and the Beaters. This song came out in 1984, but it's one of the top 10 hits of 1987. Why? Because it was prominently featured in an episode of Family Ties, when Ellen left Alex for a dance scholarship. Every time I hear it, I see Alex P. Keaton and that jukebox, and my heart still breaks for him, 20 years later.

In my work, I often record my experiments in the form of digital movies taken via a CCD camera hooked up to a microscope. As far as my boss is concerned, these movies should be short, sweet, and to the point so he can show them quickly during a presentation. But being the person I am, I always have to do two versions: the quick and simple one for the boss, and my version, complete with titles, credits, and, of course, a soundtrack. By the addition of a single song, I can make two moving droplets silly (Mahna Mahna), epic (the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey - I got a bit of a God complex making that one), sexy (a little Isaac Hayes action), or romantic (When a Man Loves a Woman). I have great plans in store for the theme from the A-Team. I've gotten to the point where a song pops into my head while I'm doing the experiment - my droplets start to seem like little people under the microscope...or at least kind of like pets (of the disposable variety - you know, like goldfish or sea monkeys). It just goes to show how the right music can completely change the way you see something, for better or worse.

I leave you with one final example of the awesome power of music: yesterday I went to a Toronto Blue Jays game. Being a home game, every time a Jays player came up to bat he had theme music played for him. Most of the players picked one theme song that was played for every at-bat, and some of them were excellent choices. I decided yesterday that Vernon Wells, the centerfielder, is my favorite Blue Jay. Not because he homered in his first at-bat, but because he had a different theme song every time he batted.

The one that sold me?

The Humpty Dance.

I mentioned to a friend that I wish I had a theme song that would play whenever I walked into a room, and he asked what it would be.

I answered without hesistation:

Sexy Motherfucker, by Prince.

Seriously. Listen to it - REALLY listen to it sometime, and I think you'll agree it's a perfect choice for me. In the soundtrack of your life, there is always one Theme. It may change over the years, but it is always awesome, because it's yours.

Everyone has a theme song, but not everyone is lucky enough to know what it is.