The Roaring Silence - March 2003

Where has the music gone?

From the first Dansette record player that my parents bought in the 1960's I had a passion for music. We even received a free single record with the player, Atlantis by The Shadows if my memory serves me right.
My older sister used to watch Top of the Pops and Ready,Steady,Go! and used to dance to her favourite singles (much to my chagrin). Dave Clark Five, Spencer Davis, Traffic, Bob Lynd (not Dylan), and many, many more. We brought back L.P.'s from Poland, we bought sloppy records like Dominique by The Singing Nun and Grandad by Clive Dunne.
The first record ever bought out of my own money was TV21 Century Themes, a compilation E.P. of the theme tunes from the animated puppet shows that were popular at the time (Supercar, Fireball XL5, etc.)

The first record that I considered a "pop music" purchase was Johnny Reggae by the Piglets. The first L.P. was Slade Alive. I soon progressed from top twenty hits through rock to progressive rock and loved every moment of my journey.
I bought a portable record player and finally a stereo system (cheap and nasty) to play my music on. I can still remember listening to my sounds laid on my parents' kitchen floor with a speaker stuck by each ear.
I found Santana, Barclay James Harvest, Neil Young, Pink Floyd, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, Hawkwind and many many more (see 1970's Music )
I learned to anticipate every chord of an album, I learned all the lyrics. I read books like the New Musical Express Encyclopedia of Rock to learn about the histories of the bands I was listening to.

So where has that music gone from my life? I wish I knew.
A tune was always in my head. I composed songs in there, mainly space rock songs with swirling synthesisers and heavy bass lines. I sang songs. I whistled songs. I hummed songs. I even reached a stage where I could almost converse in song lyrics (and frequently did!). Music was my life, I was addicted and I needed regular fixes. I was purchasing maybe two or three albums a week, I was attending live gigs in Leeds, Manchester, Sheffield and even London at least once a week.

It's all gone. Don't get me wrong I still love my music but it isn't fixed in my head anymore. The humming, whistling and singing has stopped. The instances of me seeing live music have dwindled to naught (although I have just taken my son to see the Red Hot CHili Peppers and had a good time myself). The instances of listening to music have dwindled too. Perhaps that is due to circumstances in my life where my children and grandchild have first call on what invades the peace and quiet such as TV or this strange thing called music that exists in the 21st Century.
I still like to listen to music when I am driving or when I am at my retreat in Scotland. I still buy the occasional CD too. But the fire isn't there like it used to be and this I put down to depression.

Over the last few years, as my depression has increased in intensity I find that my enthusiasm for anything and everything has almost died. The free spirit has been killed. Why? I just don't know and I mourn its passing.

It isn't just my enthusiasm for music that had died. It goes much deeper than that. Life in general has lost its sparkle and I cannot seem to rekindle the optimistic spirit that kept me going through the up's and down's of corporeal existence.

The funny thing is that music can also serve to highlight the loss of the 'hunger'. A familiar song that evokes memories of times past when all seemed sweetness and light makes the pangs of loss bite deep into my soul. I can equate all the important phases of my life with certain pieces of music and I seem to have, unconsciously, set about re-collecting the albums (in CD format) that marked the passing of the ages.
I listen to these old, familiar songs and find myself floating back in time to the days when I first related to them. I recall the emotions that were so strong in those days, be they positive or negative. They all seemed so clear and vibrant, like a landscape on a cold winter's morning. And I mourn because I cannot get those emotions back.
I am bereft and that hurts.