Medwyn Goodall is my favourite musician to relax to that I strangely never talk about.
I’ve written the above sentence once before in a blog post, thereby now rendering it rather inaccurate. But these two mentions are in no way commensurate with how much I actually listen to him.
Once upon a time I used to review music albums and concerts on my blog.
I always enjoyed doing this because music is such an important part of my life. I only allow myself to watch TV/Netflix on weekends, but I listen to music all day every day.
I got away from blogging about music the further I progressed in my writing journey, centering most posts on that instead. This was especially the case after I reduced my blogging schedule from once a week to twice a month.
The Soweto Gospel Choir at Vancouver’s Orpheum Theatre
It’s been years since I’ve been to a concert.
I’m not really sure why this is the case. I have a close friend who is as much a music lover as I am, and we have a standing commitment to see at least one concert together a year.
Photo by Jez Elliott
(Continued from Part 1)
I’ve previously blogged about the surplus of redheaded singer-songwriters in my music collection.
Specifically, the fact that, during three key periods of my life, one of my favourite recording artists—if not the favourite—was a woman with red hair.
There’s something special about red heads.
Three weeks ago, I was at the hairdresser, and the woman in the chair next to me had red hair. She was also reading a book about the history of red hair and red-headedness throughout the world, from which she shared a few interesting facts.
I’ve previously mentioned that between 60-70% of my music collection is music for studying or writing to.
In truth, it’s probably closer to 80-85%.
The reasons for this are obvious to me. I began collecting music in earnest when I first started having money of my own for some luxury items. This corresponded with my first entering university, which saw me spending the majority of my time outside of class studying and completing assignments.
2017 has been shit in a lot of ways, but not with regards to music.
I’ve always considered myself rather modest and minimal when it comes to my consumption of music.
True, I have music playing from almost the moment I wake each day until about half an hour after I close my eyes for bed. Every night, I listen in the dark to a sleep mix I’ve created to help lull me off to dreamland.
Some days – some years – retreating to a deserted island sounds like a mighty fine proposition.
Of course, it would have to be a tropical island. Being one of those people who is always cold, spending a year on an island in the Arctic – or worse, the Antarctic – would create a whole new set of problems.
I’ve been snow camping before during my great outdoorsy days, but never in -34°C (-29°F).
To be honest, it initially struck me as absurd, the thought of creating a soundtrack for a novel, let alone my own novel-in-progress.
After all, a book is, well, a book. It is static and non-visual beyond the fact of seeing a print or e-book’s typewritten words.
To me, it made little sense trying to apply techniques used in visual arts (most notably motion pictures) to a format that most definitely isn’t a picture (this despite the fact that very good books can indeed succeed in creating vivid pictures in the reader’s mind).
I’ve always been drawn to, for lack of a better term, the darker side of Enya.
For almost 20 years, the Irish, New Age singer has enchanted the world with her lush, solo melodies – songs that celebrate the wonders of the natural and celestial worlds; the siren call of adventure; the strength of the human spirit in withstanding adversity; the thrumming heart of love in its myriad forms; and the wonder and mystery of God.