Jul 26, 2013

My decade old music folder

I have no idea who the Porcupines or Portishead are, except for they can be found under P if I set my music folders in my computer to Alphabetic order.

I was trying to organize my music folder in my PC, so that I can find music I want to listen to when I’m depressed, I want to dance, or I want to sing a show-tune, more easily, without having to wait for YouTube to load, when I’m already streaming, or downloading, or uploading, or whatever other thing that makes my very poor internet busy. What I found were interesting stuff, such as bands I can’t remember, or I just remember by name, but for the love of [me] I can’t remember one single song that they ever played. There is a collection that has been passed from computer to computer by me from many years. Some folders have been brutally murdered to the recycle bin, and then forever and ever after emptied from there, but a great number of songs and folders I really can’t remember where they came from, have remained.

See, the last CD I ever bought was Backstreet Boys, where that “Show me the meaning of being lonely” song was, (I really can’t remember the album’s name), and that CD wasn't a CD, but it was a cassette. I don’t have any apple product, and I actually refrain myself from opening any credit card, so I don’t buy anything on iTunes. I am a pirate, a true pirate, and have been for the longest time. The truth is I come from a third world country, and what I make is laughable everywhere in the world, so I do take advantage of whatever illegalities there are that don’t get me punished (unless PRISM is reading this), so that I can get some entertainment. I do support my favorite artists though, anyway I can, trying not to spend as much if any.

Anywho, my point is, in my music folders I find the torrented discography of Radiohead (sorry Radiohead, I love you so much, but I really can’t afford to buy anything, and I will go to your concerts as soon as I can), and many other discographies of favorite rock or indie bands obtained in less than an hour in such a way. Torrent, thou shall be blessed, or something like that. And I know these, I can actually find the time I added them on my mega playlist.

And some music I have gotten from my brother in law, who was my first music guru when I was 16, such as copied CDs and then turned to files (Velvet Underground, Cramps, Alice in Chains, Green Day).

I have no idea how I ended up with a Bossa Nova folder. It must be something remaining in my playlist when we were trying to find ambiance music for our restaurant.

And there’s a Rufus Spencer folder, that I downloaded legally, with their permission, that reminds me of last summer when a few Nordic bands came to place in this nowhere country and we had a lot of fun.

The Starsailor discography that I listened on a loop two summers ago, gazing at the sea, slightly caressed by a shiver of moonlight, feeling lonely, and every time I go to the sea, I remember that music and I relive those feelings as if that water never moved and was imprinted in the shore forever to haunt me forevermore.

And I do have a lot of soundtrack music, from favorite shows or movies (Empire Records, The Royal Tenenbaums, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, because I freaking love that film and the music, or Mad Men, for that Mad Men party I actually never went to, and Scrubs OST, because that show had the best music, or Veronica Mars OST, they are close, and a lot of Japanese or Korean shows soundtracks, which are really very very good if you want to cry your eyes out).

I do have a really weird collection, I have Chopin and Paganini, and an entire folder of Christmas music, that most people never heard of, because it takes a long time to decorate a tree, and there’s no way that can be done without Christmas music, and because there was a time I was working for the MAN instead of freelancing as now, and listening to Christmas music in December was the only way I could feel slightly alive.

I tend to delete diaries, or I tend to hide them and never see them again, as I just don’t want to remember the silliness or the strength of the emotion I went through that period of time, or I just don’t want to hear the whiny voice in the words of that younger self of mine, but who needs diaries when you have a decade old music folder where a lot of memories have been thrown together violently and mingled like waves in a big ocean of some happiness and experimentation, but mostly sadness and regret.

I never liked Portishead, or Porcupine, for the love of me again, I can’t remember one song of these P listed bands that stand so close with my beloved Pixies and Placebo, and yet they ended up in my music folder, because half a decade ago, a loved one helped me out putting a playlist together for a 16 hour bus trip I was going to take. The music was first transferred in my Sony Ericsson phone (can’t remember more details) and probably later were transferred in my PC. I used to really spend those 16 hour trips alone in shaky roads making up stories and dialogues…waste of time that was.

I delete diaries, and e-mails, and probably one day I will delete all of this music, and yet there’s something about music that can never be deleted. Words said and written can be forgotten, but music sounds waves that leave you for a while, but later return with the same burden you embarked them with.

Every time I listen to Creep or Wish you Were Here, or Blower’s Daughter, I remember where I was when I was listening non-stop to them and I can see a glimpse of what I felt in a distorted mirror reflection of the past me. (On this note, I don’t think Narcissus drowned because he loved his reflection too much, I think he drowned because the more he came to terms with who he was, the more the water pulled him in, to his death).

Music is the most powerful time machine ever built. Music is the most powerful mirror linking you to the time past. And it can be frightening if you stand looking for too long.

In the midst of memories that get lost in all the mess that is in our neuro-pathways, some sleepy neurons light up when they get tingled by a note, by a voice, by a song, and they light up halls and corridors that you had locked up somewhere, or that you had just forgotten they even existed, and then you remember that your memories that you usually find so cold and impersonal , weren't imprinted by some creepy dudes as in Dark City, but are actually yours, and you actually lived, and you actually have lived, a lot, for better or worse. 

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