Peter Gabriel & Me: The Power of Music (Revisited)

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The face this guy makes when he listens to “Here Comes the Flood” by Peter Gabriel.

Maybe not every time, and certainly not every time he is driving.

But it’s definitely the face he made while driving home, a week or two before Christmas, and even though he knew that song was next, it caught him by surprise.

No, that’s not accurate.

This song can never catch you by surprise, especially if you know it’s coming.

It’s always an emotional event; it always does something. Something always happens.

But there are times, perhaps if it’s cold, or dark, or you are alone, or in a particularly reflective mood, or unusually open to receiving its message, or uncommonly moved by the inexplicable power of art, when it is overpowering.

Occasionally, the tears come. And not only is that not a bad thing, it’s a very good thing. A thing you want to feel, a thing you need to have happen, at least on occasion.

(He did cry during movies. And conversations. He often cried alone, especially when he listened to music. And not even sad music.

So, you might ask, are you really suggesting someone should want to listen to music that is capable of making them cry?

Yes, he would reply.

But, you might ask, why would one want to do such a thing?

It’s simple, he would say. So that you know you’re alive.)

In this instance the title of the song is too perfect, so perfect it can preclude cliché.

Do you know what I’m talking about?

Does this help?

More, another time, about this song in particular and Peter Gabriel’s power. Of the many artists I admire, I’m not certain there is another singer who can stir such meaningful emotions as Gabriel. Hearing is believing, and all it takes is some quiet time with any of his albums. Seeing him live adds considerably to the experience. In this great day and age, we can –and should– be grateful that moments we may have missed are preserved and can be returned to at any time.

Check it out.

That is the power we give and receive.

The power we share.

The power of music.

Share

Peter Gabriel & Me: The Power of Music (Revisited)

The face this guy makes when he listens to “Here Comes the Flood” by Peter Gabriel.

Maybe not every time, and certainly not every time he is driving.

But it’s definitely the face he made while driving home, a week or two before Christmas, and even though he knew that song was next, it caught him by surprise.

No, that’s not accurate.

This song can never catch you by surprise, especially if you know it’s coming.

It’s always an emotional event; it always does something. Something always happens.

But there are times, perhaps if it’s cold, or dark, or you are alone, or in a particularly reflective mood, or unusually open to receiving its message, or uncommonly moved by the inexplicable power of art, when it is overpowering.

Occasionally, the tears come. And not only is that not a bad thing, it’s a very good thing. A thing you want to feel, a thing you need to have happen, at least on occasion.

(He did cry during movies. And conversations. He often cried alone, especially when he listened to music. And not even sad music.

So, you might ask, are you really suggesting someone should want to listen to music that is capable of making them cry?

Yes, he would reply.

But, you might ask, why would one want to do such a thing?

It’s simple, he would say. So that you know you’re alive.)

In this instance the title of the song is too perfect, so perfect it can preclude cliché.

Do you know what I’m talking about?

Does this help?

More, another time, about this song in particular and Peter Gabriel’s power. Of the many artists I admire, I’m not certain there is another singer who can stir such meaningful emotions as Gabriel. Hearing is believing, and all it takes is some quiet time with any of his albums. Seeing him live adds considerably to the experience. In this great day and age, we can –and should– be grateful that moments we may have missed are preserved and can be returned to at any time.

Check it out.

That is the power we give and receive.

The power we share.

The power of music.

Share

Peter Gabriel & Me: The Power of Music

The face this guy makes when he listens to “Here Comes the Flood” by Peter Gabriel.

Maybe not every time, and certainly not every time he is driving.

But it’s definitely the face he made while driving home, a week or two before Christmas, and even though he knew that song was next, it caught him by surprise.

No, that’s not accurate.

This song can never catch you by surprise, especially if you know it’s coming.

It’s always an emotional event; it always does something. Something always happens.

But there are times, perhaps if it’s cold, or dark, or you are alone, or in a particularly reflective mood, or unusually open to receiving its message, or uncommonly moved by the inexplicable power of art, when it is overpowering.

Occasionally, the tears come. And not only is that not a bad thing, it’s a very good thing. A thing you want to feel, a thing you need to have happen, at least on occasion.

(He did cry during movies. And conversations. He often cried alone, especially when he listened to music. And not even sad music.

So, you might ask, are you really suggesting someone should want to listen to music that is capable of making them cry?

Yes, he would reply.

But, you might ask, why would one want to do such a thing?

It’s simple, he would say. So that you know you’re alive.)

In this instance the title of the song is too perfect, so perfect it can preclude cliché.

Do you know what I’m talking about?

Does this help?

More, another time, about this song in particular and Peter Gabriel’s power. Of the many artists I admire, I’m not certain there is another singer who can stir such meaningful emotions as Gabriel. Hearing is believing, and all it takes is some quiet time with any of his albums. Seeing him live adds considerably to the experience. In this great day and age, we can –and should– be grateful that moments we may have missed are preserved and can be returned to at any time.

Check it out.

That is the power we give and receive.

The power we share.

The power of music.

Share

Here Comes The Flood

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Sometimes your condo gets flooded.

It’s odd, but since it wasn’t my fault (some clown on the fourth floor installed something, or had something installed, that malfunctioned, dripping its incompetent pain on the units below) I don’t feel quite as bad. If my condo flooded because of my own idiocy, I would be embarrassed and appalled (and feeling guilty for any inconvenience I was causing my neighbors). When you come home from work to find your place flooded, you can lift your skinny fists high and shout at an unjust God, or you can laugh and pour yourself a Blanton’s on the rocks. And enjoy the show.

The show?

For anyone who has had this happen, the post-flood crime scene consists of a team of workers descending upon your unit, holding Geiger counter looking contraptions up to the walls and ceiling to ascertain if there is water inside. Unfortunately, although my floors were dry (this after they’d been suctioned and vacuumed and mopped) my walls were fairly pregnant with water, waiting to burst out like champagne at a wedding reception. And so these fine gentlemen went to work, cutting holes in my bathroom, kitchen and living room walls (see picture above) to clear out the water, and make room for the other contraption that pumps the water out. If anyone has ever had the misfortune of being in the hospital as someone has recovered from surgery, these machines are exactly like the ones that suction out the excess fluids from the patient’s body. In this case, they are sucking water out of my walls and draining into my sink. They are very loud.

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I also have a Greek chorus of dehumidifiers, cranked up to a Spinal Tap-like 11, and those suckers need to be operating like this for at least 72 hours. Ouch. In order to sleep last night, I put myself in urban mode and pretended I was in New York City (a great place I’ve had many a restless night) and the discordant cries became oddly comforting hums; the static of traffic without the obligatory and incessant horn blasts from cranky cab drivers.

I am lucky. My kitchen and bathroom floors are tile, so the water came right up; and only a small spot on my carpet was affected. My bedroom and the “sweet spot” of my living room (i.e., where the TV and audio components stand) were dry as Al Gore, so there was no significant damage done. As to the holes in my walls, I wonder if the condo association (to whom I begrudgingly pay ever-escalating and absurdly high dues each month) steps up here, or if I’m SOL and utilize my home owner’s insurance (to whom I begrudgingly pay ever-escalating and absurdly high dues each year). We shall see.

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In the meantime, my eyes work, my ears work, and my laptop works, and I happen to endorse the old saying, When life gives you lemons, go to YouTube and find different (and brilliant) versions of the immortal Peter Gabriel masterpiece. This can wash away the pain until Blanton’s steps in to do some heavy lifting once the sun sets.

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