Mistress Music (part 1)

        Driving home from Boston on New Year’s day, I gave my latest musical purchase it’s first listen. Southbound on I-93, Metallica’s Death Magnetic performed it’s merciless virgin assault on my unsuspecting senses.
        A musician for over thirty years, music has had a deep, profound impact on my life. Before I ever picked up a pair of drumsticks, music was listened to, played, and enjoyed in the house I grew up in. My older brother turned my twin brother Mike and I onto The Beatles, CCR, The Rolling Stones, The Lovin’ Spoonful, and The Monkees well before we hit double digits. I remember sitting on his bedroom floor, Mike and I digging through albums for hours, marveling at all the amazing images that exploded off of the seemingly gigantic one-square-foot canvas. More than some vague ethereal entity, music became a life partner. A lover who would never leave me.
        Partially because of that connection that goes back to childhood, and partially because of wonderfully mysterious reasons, music has always been a whole-being experience for me. I don’t just hear it. I feel it. I see it. I taste it. I smell it. And, invoking that mysterious sixth sense, I metaphysically experience it on a whole different level. Listening to music takes me far beyond my senses.
        The right music can therefore be nothing short of a spiritual experience. No different than say when a devout Christian hears the word of Christ, or sees Christ’s image. And because it transcends the parameters of language, as vast as those parameters might be, a spiritual experience can’t be fully explained or described.
        This transcendent element is what makes music one of the most powerful and moving forces of my life. It’s also what sometimes drives me nuts about it. Because I desperately want to accurately describe my experience to people. I badly want to talk or write about it so vividly and articulately that you get it. You get it just like I did. I want to share it with you because I know that in that sharing, a profound connection can be created.
        So when I can’t describe or explain it to the point where you can get it too, the experience remains somewhat solitary. It stays between me and my music. And as wonderful as that is, something in me is always yearning to include someone else.
        So these experiences I have with music can be, in a way, bittersweet. They are so profound and intense that I feel a deep connection to life. And they are so personal and indescribable and unique that I feel somewhat alone.
        On Death Magnetic, track four “The Day That Never Comes”, and track seven, “The Unforgiven III” are two of those songs that put me completely over the edge. And by the way, whenever possible, I have to play such songs at maximum volume. That’s important. I want to physically feel the music in my chest. And in my crotch as well, truth be told. Because on some level, all music that moves me has a sexual element. Partly because all music that deeply touches me makes me feel sexy. And partly because sex is what creates life. Well so does music. Music literally gives me life.
        The right music gives me life by creating vast energy within. This energy literally transforms my reality. It transforms my experience of life, and therefore my life itself. The right music stirs my blood to a boil. It ignites a limitless passion. It gives me a sense of immense power. It connects me to the moment. It produces the most incredibly intense emotions. And it moves me so profoundly that I travel to a different place.
        As far as I’m concerned, that’s on par with the actual physical creation of life.
        And it’s completely non-cognitive. The right music bypasses my mind and touches something else inside of me that nothing else can access. Only music has this magic key that unlocks this exclusive sacred space within me. The right music liberates so much energy and emotion from inside of me that I must release it, somehow, right there.
        If I’m in a situation where it’s inappropriate to act this out, I go inside, get quiet, and experience the song in an introverted manor. People have seen me do this. I will stop talking, my gaze fixated between my own eyes, looking in, and I will leave the physical experience and enter the music. Then lose myself in it.
        Sometimes I can stop this from happening and remain part of the collective human race. But sometimes I can’t. Or I just plain don’t want to, because I love the song so much. If that’s the case, I’ve been known to excuse myself from the conversation and say “Excuse me, but I’m really into this song. I’ll be right back as soon as it’s over.”
        That’s why it’s sometimes hard for me to “casually” listen to music that I love. Because there’s nothing casual about it. It’s bloody intense.
        This can be a bane. Especially in a social situation where I’m surrounded by people. I get torn, because I want to talk and connect and communicate. But I also feel the magnetic pull of the music, calling to me like The Sirens of Greek mythology. And, like Odysseus, I have to be tied down to resist (but that’s a whole different story). Sometimes I simply can’t refuse the call.
        It’s a peculiar “problem” to have. But I’m sure many other musicians, or other intense music freaks, can relate. And I’m curious as to how they deal with this.
        I know at least one reason music can do this to me. Because I let it. Many years ago, I let music in. All the way in. No walls or defenses. Music was safe. Music wasn’t going to hurt me the way people had. Music could make me feel just as much as any person could. And she would never leave me. She would love me, no matter what. As an adolescent with an abandonment complex and little self worth, I can’t say I honestly knew that about anybody, or anything, else in my life. So I trusted music and let her all the way inside of me. And she’s been there ever since.
        In a way, my experience with music has given me a model for an intense, bona fide intimate relationship with a woman. I’m finally ready to trust the right woman enough to let her see all of me. I’m finally ready to let her all the way inside. Just like I’ve done with music. I’m ready to allow her to touch me in the most profound of ways. I’ve had a taste of it. Now I want the whole thing.
        In that sharing of self, I will finally experience, with another person, the kind of spiritual intimacy that I’ve had with music. I’ll have that most sacred connection to another person. Without having to explain it or describe it. Without worrying about the limited parameters of language. Because she’ll be there with me. Just like the music is. Finally, I’ll have let somebody all the way inside of me. Just like I did with music. Someday, a certain someone will occupy that sacred space with me too.
        Most of my life, music has been my true love. But there’s plenty of me to go around. There’s more than enough me to share with another. To give to another. Completely. And for the first time in my life, I’m really looking forward to that.
        Truly. A Happy. New. Years.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and an New Year’s full of Wrongs) Reserved.

To hear samples of the songs mentioned, click on the orange titles of the songs themselves, or go here.

The Groove Is In The Heart

       It was past ten at night, and I had been driving for over six hours. Los Angeles, where I had spent my summer, felt like a world away. But the city’s memory was still able to physically manifested itself. All I had to do was look to my right. There, thousands of feet below me, and many miles from this windy road that carved it’s way through the Sierra Nevada mountains, the bright lights and urban sprawl of Fresno exploded out of the desert. Fresno reminded me of the city of angels, if only in it’s stark contrast to where I was going: Sequoia National Park. Home of the Giant Sequoia Trees. The largest living organisms on the face of the earth.
       There were no lights on this road, the only illumination being supplied by the headlights of my rented Mustang convertible. And although it was nearly pitch black, I knew I was surrounded by dense forest. More than that, I could feel the presence of giant trees. Like the kind of sensation you get when you know you’re being watched. I couldn’t see them. But I could feel them. They were everywhere.
       A sense of peace and excitement filled every crevice of my being until it had nowhere to go but out, and I laughed and smiled with a purity I rarely experience. I was in the midst of magic once more. Like that one Christmas morning you’ll never forget. The one, that for some reason felt different and special from all the rest, this night was destined to occupy that same sacred space.
       A simple, yet profound, completely zen experience. One of my life’s great moments.
       Surprisingly, considering the remoteness of my location, I was able to still get radio stations. The Mustang had a crankin’ stereo that could pump out enough volume for me to hear music even with the top down, pushing ninety on any interstate. As I made my way into the Giant Forest, I came across a song that I recognized, although I didn’t know it’s name. But I was way into it just the same. It had a killer groove, an infectious riff, and the melody was completely doing it for me. I could make out some of the words: “I couldn’t dance for another” was one line that kept repeating. But the key phrase, the one that I instinctively knew betrayed the song’s title, I couldn’t completely decipher. “The groove is....something, something, something.” As closely as I listened, I couldn’t make it out.
       That song, seeing as it was part of one of my life’s most precious moments, has stayed with me ever since. I’ve not actively tried to find out what song it was, but I knew that someday, the mood would strike me and I would begin the quest to posses it.
       The other night, that quest began. The title came too me in a dream. I didn’t even have to look for it. It found me. How cool is that?
       In my dream, I was sucking face with...a certain girl. Sucking face is actually a rather crass term here. Because it was one of those very long, deep, soft, passionate kisses where our mouths melded, and her delicious wet tenderness seemed to gently engulf my entire face. In fact, I awoke with my mouth open, drooling on my pillow. I would love to have a video of me during the last few minutes of that dream.
       Anyway, during the kiss, I heard the words of that song clearly for the first time. “The Groove Is In The Heart”. I didn’t hear the song itself, or even the melody. Just the words. But I knew where those words belonged. I just knew.
       I woke up, pillow drool and all, the words reticent in my room, as though they had just been said aloud. I immediately thought to myself “Of course. ‘The groove is in the heart’. Look where I’ve come from. Where I’m at. Where I’m going. How apropos.” Then I turned on my computer and went immediately to iTunes, where I searched the song, found it, listened to several different versions, and bought a few of them.
       Now I’m not claiming that this is some big realization of any sort, or that the dream has any great significance. It was just plain gnarly to hear those words in a dream, especially those words, and know exactly where they belong. Very cool.
       And in a way, it closes the loop on the experience that I had on my way to Sequoia.
       Such experiences are born not purely of the mind, but of the whole being. That’s what makes them so rich and powerful. When you can feel something stirring in your heart. When you know there is something happening in your body. When you are aware of your mind, but not in it. When you intuitively sense your connection to something far greater than yourself, and you are truly conscious that “that something” is connected to everything else.
       That’s an experience. And I want more of them. That’s a life. And I want more of it.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a groove full of Wrongs) Reserved.

Note: To hear “The Groove Is In The Heart”, go here.

Musex

Today is the second anniversary of my dad's death. Although I've written much about him, I decided that today's post would be a celebration of love and music. If he were still alive, my dad would be horrified to see me post something so graphic, sexual, and revealing as this. And he would have told me so. But secretly, he would would have smiled and said "Jesus Christ, John" (my dad called me John, not Clint. And he loved taking the lord's name in vain). Dad was a huge fan of music. And of love.

      Don’t try this at home. Actually, absolutely try this at home.
      One night, she creates a play list of songs. The next night, he does. For the next two evenings, this will be the music you play while you’re having sex. Here’s the twist: As you make love to all these various pieces of music, consciously notice how the music impacts you and your experience.
       The difference here is that you’re paying attention to what song is playing. It’s not just background music. You’re aware of what the song is, what it brings up, and how it makes you feel. It’s not distracting you. It’s guiding you. It’s shaping the event, enhancing it, right along with the two of you. Specific music becomes another active element, like scent, that co-creates the experience.
       Give the atmosphere a chance to develop. Choose songs that evokes similar emotions, setting a particular overall mood. To that end, you wouldn’t mix “Vicarious” by Tool with “Wild Horses” by The Stones. Unless you want some crazy, psychotically charged sex. Which is perfectly cool.
        Think about choosing the song “Love Gun” by Kiss. It’s a raunchy, sexist, absurdly macho, testosterone dripping, aggressive piece of music. Chances are, that’s what the sex will be like. Be aware of what the song is bringing up in you while it’s happening. Now put on “Something In The Way She Moves” by James Taylor. Soft, beautiful, tender, loving. An absolute musical temple for the woman.
        No matter what you choose, become actively aware of what the music is saying to you, doing to you, and evoking in you. Call it conspicuously conscious sex. If you like to talk while you’re making love, jackpot. Tell your lover what you’re experiencing as each song brings up different nuances and sensations and feelings. While keeping the motor running, of course.
        Sometimes, I've taken it a step further. I sing to my lover while we’re having sex. It’s more of a whisper type of singing, but it’s still melodic, and I get all the words right. More importantly, I really get into it. More more importantly, she really gets into it. Now, I don’t have a trained voice, but it doesn’t matter. Anybody can sing in this situation and sound just dandy. And when a woman sings to me, forget it. I died and went to heaven. And that’s before my orgasm. The absolute apex is to sing to your lover while you’re looking into each other’s eyes. One word for that: Magic.
        Singing to someone while beholding their glassy gaze, however, does takes some chutzpah. Remember the last time you played DJ at a party and nobody liked your choice of music? Musical rejection can hurt. You’re out on a limb a bit with this one. But it is so worth it.
        No matter what music you choose, make sure there’s nothing but love behind it. It can be a tender, soft, gentle kind of love. It can be a madly passionate, lustful kind of love. It can be a controlling kind of love. As in “Honey, where are the handcuffs?”. That’s fine. Actually that’s more than fine. That’s fantastic. Anyway, maybe it’ll help you work through something. With her. With him. Maybe without even talking about it. Most guys like that last part.
        Music can be the third in a beautiful menage a trois. And unlike the real thing, there’s never any radioactive emotional fallout. I’ve sung entire CD’s to woman just during foreplay. Then again, I have a tremendous capacity for remembering lyrics. And for foreplay.

© 2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and oh so many Wrongs) Reserved.