Maybe I’ve talked to you before about the role music plays as a barometer of my emotional well-being. I often love happening upon fresh and unexpected grooves. But there have been months at a time when I had no patience for it. Trying to pick something to listen to stressed me out. You know how an invalid has no appetite? I should have realized something was up with my soul, for what is soul-food if not music? The music I did listen to was old comfort blankeys, for which I don’t mean to discount my deep affection. Staples are important. But it was worrisome that I had no appetite for newness. I mean I could have gone through my whole life without ever hearing Del tha Funkee Homosapien ask “What is a booty, and how will I know if I’m shaking it?” That would have been a very sad consequence of me losing my appetite for musical discovery.
And it still happens from time to time. But I’m hungry again. I’m okay! Brazilian pop. Hip-hop. Steely Dan. Sure, go ahead and suggest me some more. Be adventurous. Let us be adventurous.
Here’s kind of a tangent, but I always come back to jazz, you know? For peace. I mean it’s the land where my musical inquisitiveness sparked into incandescent being, and it’s a wide enough land to sustain a lot of discovery. This is deeply and trustworthily good stuff.
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