Well, if you can call it “music.” It’s my music.
First bitlet: Yesterday’s entry reviewed the Daughtry album, Leave This Town. In order to review it, I listened to the album twice on the 14th and once on the fifteenth.
At about two o’clock in the morning on the 15th, I awoke from a dream in which someone was kidnapping Chris Daughtry, only he either escaped or convinced the kidnapper to leave him somewhere on the highway. He then walked to a diner where he was going to get help.
I awoke amazed by the brilliance of this man, evading his captor and going to get help, so calm, and began creating a story around the whole thing, wondering about the legitimacy of writing fanfic about someone who’s real, then changing details of who he was… And then I realized it was a pretty dumb story overall and let it go.
Later I thought, wouldn’t it be funny if that wasn’t entirely a dream? Because I’d listened to two hours of Daughtry the day before, maybe two of the household guardian angels were sitting around, nursing headaches, saying, “You know, I wish someone would take that album and toss it out on the highway.”
(Which, for the record, is what my stepfather did with my “Thriller” album when my stepbrother took it with him on vacation and played it constantly for five days. I never heard it again. No big loss.)
That notion was far funnier than anything in the actual dream (and, for the record, made more sense) and I got a good laugh out of it.
Second bitlet: My brother gave me a generous iTunes giftcard, and then said, “Although I know your music. I should just have set the money on fire.” The result is that I’ve taken a perverse pleasure in buying music I know he’d hate.
For example: I picked up Roxette’s “The Look” (the single.) Where did I first hear it? By borrowing “Look Sharp” from my brother’s music collection. Yes, my brother is making fun of music that he originally owned. Granted, he was 14 years old at the time, and he’s grown up, but I haven’t.
Here are some of the insightful lyrics of “The Look.”
Walking like a man
Hitting like a hammer
She’s a juvenile scam
Never was a quitter
Tasty like a raindrop
She’s got the look
There I am, driving about ten miles to the grocery store, singing along to the lyrics, when I felt that distinct “??” pop into my thoughts.
I replied, “No, I don’t know what those lyrics mean either.”
A moment later, Roxette sings this particular gem:
And she goes, na-na-na-na-nah
I thought, “That I do understand.”
Ask our household angels and they’ll tell you, Perfect pitch is a curse. All the more reason to be grateful that they left the heavenly choirs for eighty years or thereabouts to endure our music here on Earth. Or what passes for it.