Music has an amazing range of sounds and the ability to connect us, melt us, move us to tears.
I was in Southern Austria one day admiring a house along the beautiful lake where Brahms, among other great artists, spent time composing his second symphony. I used to cry when my mother sang me “Lullaby”, transfixed by her embrace before kissing me goodnight. I forever associate that song with those maternal moments. Recently I learned that BB King died while, coincidentally, I was listening to “The Thrill is Gone” on my iPod. Another indelible moment. So in honour of his being gone I played the song again and dance-cried – literally moving my Self to tears as body and emotions fused. And then came last night. A night like no other. A night in which I also cried, this time while online and having discovered from where the “ick” in “music” originates. Brahms may be beautiful. BB may be baaad. But the inestimable talents of Amy Schumer’s heartrending, mind bending, potent and oh-so-moving (as in “your funky ass”) rendition of “Milk Milk Lemonade …” left me drenched in tears. Of laughter (and a bit of ick).
Finally my existential angst about the Meaning of Life has been answered and I see what the “f’udge” is wrong with this world.