My Friend, Music
I’ve always preferred the company of music over people.
I’ve always preferred the company of music over people. Not because of some sort of misanthropic bent, but rather because I’ve always felt bewildered by other people. Since my teenage years, I never understood peopling the same way everyone else seemingly did, like I was missing some sort of preloaded code that all other humans possessed. The resulting social frictions left me feeling rejected and confused, pushing for answers generally made things worse, and trying to makeshift-mold myself into someone who would naturally fit in came at the expense of my mental health. So, I turned inward and toward music. I became fixated on what I considered the music of transgression - industrial, jazz, punk, post-punk, new wave - anything that I could personify into as much as a misfit as I was and am. These genres felt like friendship, or at least, a passable replacement for it.
What always confused me about music, though, was that it was created by people, who I always failed to understand and be understood by. And yet, music seemed to understand me. It felt more patient and consistent, provided me with a companionship I found myself craving but unable to figure out or maintain. It gave me hope that there must be other people like me out there, even if I couldn’t find them. Who else could be creating something so directly plucked from my own mind and soul?
Lately I’ve been rekindling my all-embracing intimacy with music. With the increased emotional depth but also directionlessness that comes with recovery, I’m back to my childhood space of feeling madly in love with this non-human entity. The multi-sensory sound waves and sonic textures. Pacing between rooms aside bass lines I can feel run along my veins and echo in my chest. I even started singing again, twirling alone in the kitchen while cooking up some breakfast; I so love the feeling of song rising out of me and into the world. I don’t think someone can truly experience my joy until they’ve sang and danced with me, if I can feel safe enough to bear that intimacy.
I also started going to live shows again, with caution during the ongoing pandemic. This week I stumbled upon the fact that a favorite band was playing walking distance from my house later that same evening. I was in a bad, perseverating headspace, but pushed myself to get tickets and give showing up a shot. The concert was absolutely phenomenal; a chimera of pulsating synth, violet lights, heartbeat percussion, the march of vocals; I scream-sang my favorite songs, pumped my fist into the air, stomped and stomped and stomped. Near the end of the show, two big guys near me invited me into a swaying embrace for a particularly emotional song; I surprised myself when I accepted without much thought. Honestly, I very much needed the human contact. The result of all this was such a profound moment of presence and interconnectedness, which seems impossible nowadays when I’m always somewhere else in my mind. I left the show feeling more solidly grounded in the world and a bit less alone.
<3 Lyss
Upcoming: I am excitedddd to go to what will most likely be the most neurodivergent concert of my life next month - Kraftwerk, another teenage-me (and current me) favorite. I will definitely be writing about that. I’d also love to write more about music in general, especially as I continue to add to my vinyl and CD collection. I’ve been inspired by the work of Hanif Abdurraqib for a long time and would love to write about music the way he does. We’ll see what pops up on here in the next few months.