"Hell is full of amateur musicians." -George Bernard Shaw
Though it's an atrocity to quote both Shaw and Chesterton on the same blog, the sentiment was quite fitting indeed.
I've often supposed that in heaven--in the world to come--our lives will be accompanied by a soundtrack. Not in a creepy way, like my nightmare of a one man band following me around town setting my life to music, but in some awesome invisible-surround-sound-speaker-system sort of way. I can imagine waking up and deciding over a cup of tea whether it's a Zimmer day or a Jablonski day or a Giacchino day.
Day dreaming aside, music does have a special way of teleporting the memory back to certain moments in time. Pieces of music become little time machines for the brain. Keeping the iTunes library on shuffle while doing math homework often drops my brain off in Virginia or Greece or California every four minutes instead of keeping it splattered across the twenty-some composite function problems it should be focused on. The soundtrack from The Man from Snowy River winds me up in Colorado Springs. Most of The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe's credits pieces put me in Yellowstone or King's Canyon, and for whatever reason, the artist Moby's work throws me back to Oklahoma.
It does make me wonder if, in the world to come, music will be something like a less creepy version of Cobb's elevator in Inception, transporting us back to those moments in time that resonate so musically in our memories.
And just because it's no fun to read a blog post without pictures, here are two entirely unrelated shots: one of my grandmother and one of a young girl who was staying at my grandparent's home. Though these were taken quite some time ago, I just recently realized have a pretty neat contrast when they're juxtaposed.
Day dreaming aside, music does have a special way of teleporting the memory back to certain moments in time. Pieces of music become little time machines for the brain. Keeping the iTunes library on shuffle while doing math homework often drops my brain off in Virginia or Greece or California every four minutes instead of keeping it splattered across the twenty-some composite function problems it should be focused on. The soundtrack from The Man from Snowy River winds me up in Colorado Springs. Most of The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe's credits pieces put me in Yellowstone or King's Canyon, and for whatever reason, the artist Moby's work throws me back to Oklahoma.
It does make me wonder if, in the world to come, music will be something like a less creepy version of Cobb's elevator in Inception, transporting us back to those moments in time that resonate so musically in our memories.
And just because it's no fun to read a blog post without pictures, here are two entirely unrelated shots: one of my grandmother and one of a young girl who was staying at my grandparent's home. Though these were taken quite some time ago, I just recently realized have a pretty neat contrast when they're juxtaposed.
