A Musical Monologue

“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music”
Aldous Huxley (1894 – 1963)

One of my favourite things about living in London is the live music. If you wanted to (and were financially able..), you could watch a different band playing every night for the rest of your life.

In the last three months I’ve been to see three bands courtesy of three dear friends, that were brilliant (four, if you count the sixteen year olds playing at the bowling/diner/karaoke place for Tova’s farewell).

Last week I went with David to see Lucky Dube at the Elephant and Castle Coronet. Awesome. If you have never heard of him, he is a South African Reggae artist. He is one of the South Africa’s most toured artists and “the only South African artist to have a record signed to Motown Records”. For more fun facts, check out his website here. The atmosphere was wonderful – the feeling one can only get at a reggae concert. I had had a particularly weird weekend, and meeting my old friend David, and relaxing to the tunes made life feel good again. Lucky had a large band playing with him who were great, in particular the three ladies singing. I had seen one of them singing in a jazz bar in Cape Town before. Vibrant in bright colours, beads, and voices like angels. The lyrics are incredibly powerful too.

Shepherds Bush Empire, about a month ago, my friend Anna had got tickets to see Ozomatli, for her birthday and she invited me along. I had never heard of them before. Both of us were feeling quite tired and almost didn’t go. I’m so glad we did. Within minutes we were loving it. I don’t know how you would fit this music into a genre – there’s about 9 of them; one minute it is rap, then reggae, then Latin American influence, then Middle Eastern all interspersed with messages of social justice. They were having SO much fun – just loving the music, the audience and atmosphere. The Empire is now one of my favourite venues – perfect size, great ambience. We made friends with the people next to us and I saw the biggest hair I have EVER seen. If you haven’t ever heard of Ozomatli – please check them out – they’re awesome and their website is right here.

Two months ago - Wembley Arena - The Killers. When my friend Mark told me that he had managed to get tickets, I almost feinted. So I got the best birthday present in the world. They have been on my top five list since Hot Fuss came out three (?) years ago. I remember listening to them all the way from Scotland to London driving with my sister (remember Heath?). I am going to put a video in now, the quality is not very good but every time I watch it I get shivers down my spine (one day I will have a good quality video on my blog). It was phenomenal.



So…. Why is it that music touches us so deeply? How can it be so powerful?

Now please understand, this is a rhetorical question; I do not want an answer. Undoubtedly, there have been studies that have reduced the power of music to some psychological theory. Deconstructed the phenomenon; attributing it to some evolutionary explanation. And I don’t want to know.

I rather want to marvel at the power of music.

I rarely feel an emotion that can rival listening to a favourite song. Music makes me run faster and further. It can make me cry. It makes me feel like I can conquer the world. It brings back the most vivid memories – Nirvana at high school, The Cure at boarding school, Henry Eight at Uni, Ben Harper driving across America etc etc etc.

Some days I can ABSOLUTELY NOT listen to any music whatsoever. Some days only Mozart will do. Others, it’s Tracey Chapman. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to stop on the stairs going up to my flat to air drum Green Day after a night out. I will never get bored of jumping up and down at 3am, with my old flatmates, to the dance version of Mr Brightside.

And I love seeing the effect on other people. The dance group at the mall in Portsmouth all ages, shapes and sizes, enjoying the sun and jiving to New Order’s Blue Monday (this does bring in the sub-category “dance” which I can’t really go into now). My friend Groova at his decks mixing. My friend Matthieu mixing on his mac.

About 8am one Sunday morning in Lilongwe a few years ago. I had got home at 5am and had had a few carlsbergs the night before. Suddenly, with sound to rival the Royal Albert Hall, I was awakened. My mum was up and happy to be alive, ready to enjoy her Sunday morning with music. It was something to rival Rachmaninov - this is your cue to finally comment on my blog mum, and correct me. While it didn’t make me smile at the time, I love looking back on it and laughing.

Ok, I will stop rambling. That’s enough for a Sunday morning in London.

If music be the food of love, play on. Actually, even if music isn’t the food of love, please play on anyway.