Presenting supposedly great works of art for the first time, or music dear to oneself, is always difficult. You're forced to hear the songs objectively, and to witness them via someone else's experience. We might know that a certain album is considered genius, crucial or revolutionary -- or that it changed our own lives -- but can a song or artist convey an essential importance or validity immediately? While Playing Hendrix, Wire, The Slits, Black Sabbath and the Stooges to my friend, I had to question (and I even worried) whether they really would sound thunderous or, for that matter, new. I'd hoped that something old even could sound new -- and certain songs, like the opening riff of "See No Evil" by Television, did.
I discovered last night that the albums we've come to take for granted can leave fresh marks upon us; they can override nostalgia and sentimentality; they can overtake a moment, permeate and flood. It's good to know, beyond mere mental recognition or a historical acknowledgement, that certain music can and does turn you inside out. It's hard to make the space, physically or mentally, for that power sometimes -- a lot of our music listening has become unintentional, crammed into crevices to make room for the rest of our hectic lives. Might I suggest, then, that every once in a while, you let some of your favorite songs or albums take over a whole room -- or, better yet, a whole night. But only if you're ready.
"Thou shalt not extinguish thine anger, but shall master it,
that thy conscience may not be blunted by adjustment
to wrong causes."
-The Dutch Ten Commandments to Foil the Nazis
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