The Old Musician

As I’ve been transferring music onto the new computer, I’m starting to see my age. Not that the bands I’m listening to are pot bellied geriatrics, who sustain on colostomy bags and royalties smaller than social security checks. Well, some of them do I suppose, but that’s not where the age issue comes from.

In this instance, the sense of age comes from the songs I choose. You see, I’m not the sort of person who can dedicate a day to moving every last bit of audio I have from one device unto another. It’s just not what I do. For me, it’s a very slow, almost agonizingly intricate process, where I start with the songs that I deem absolutely necessary for survival. The songs that I know I cannot live without, will always get placed into the new medium for easy access. And little by little, I start adding the stuff that’s a little less essential until I finally get to the stuff that pleasantly fills space. It’s clean, it’s accurate, and it insures that I will never be in a tough spot without that song I so desperately need.

This is something I’ve done plenty of in my life. I’ve been through two MP3 players, one external hard drive, and two desktop computers before starting my life anew with this laptop. I’ve moved me some audio. So, it’s not the physical act of dragging and dropping that reminds me of my age and maturity, nor is the speed at which my newfangled gizmo does it (though admittedly, it does it pretty damn fast.) No, what startles me in this instance is What I am moving.

And What, happens to be the list of albums I consider essential. Jeff Buckley was one of the firsts on the list. Neko Case was there too. Then there was Mark Knopfler, Nick Cave, Morphine, The Ether Orchestra, Beck’s “Sea Change” album, amongst others. Now, this is all fine quality music....but it’s not necessarily the music I would have picked a few years ago.

Those who have known me might realize that there are a few artists that did not appear on this short lists. Bands like Type O Negative, or Faith No More, or even Tool. These were groups who I was dedicated to and could not function normally without the knowledge that I could get doses of their greatness any time I needed it. Type O’s “October Rust” album was about as near to perfection as anything could be. I worshiped that album, listening to it and nothing else for months at a time. That album sung as closely to my pain and my heart as anything. Of course, that was then. Now, I haven’t even pulled the CD out of the case. Every time I think about grabbing it, I get distracted in my hunt for a missing Tom Waits album.

Same thing with Faith No More’s “King For A Day, Fool For A Lifetime” album. Here are 14 tracks that have affect me to this very day. Billy Gould was one of the first guys who ever got me thinking that maybe playing a bass would be kind of cool. Hell, Mike Patton even got me thinking that being a frontman would be pretty damned awesome. A rare thing for a solitary musican like myself. And even now when I compose stuff for the BGO, music that is far removed from anything FTM would have ever done, I can still hear the influence they had. Sometimes it’s in the sutble way I hit a string, or the notes I reach for when I sing. But I can hear it, it’s definitely there. And yet, despite the powerful influence it had on lil’ ole me, it still hasn’t been transferred over. And it’s not like it would be hard, it’s already on the external hard drive. It wouldn’t require much more than clicking, dragging, and dropping. But still, I feel there are other things that need to come over first.

In fact, I’m not even sure I have one heavily distorted guitar driven album on here yet. Not one. The closest seems to be Nirvana’s “MTV Unplugged” performance. A band that started me on the path to musical success has taken precedence over the bands that carried me the furthest.

And now I’m sitting here, realizing how much my musical tastes have changed. You see, when I started taking in new sounds, I treated it like I always do: more ingredients for the stew. Just different flourishes and ideas that add a base to what I already was. And as I pursued this musical exploration, I never once realized that my preferences would shift without me realizing it. That one day, these great artists and albums that helped carry me through adolescence, would find themselves being left behind in favor of others. And I never would have expected that I wouldn’t even be that sad about it.

I’m not dismissing them. I’ll never go on record saying these artists weren’t as great as I thought they were, because they were great. I still cherish them, and still get a big smile on my face when I hear them. But, they don’t sing for me anymore. This isn’t the music that talks about the life I lead now. The music that speaks of an older, more weary Boogie. When I hear Type O in all it’s detuned glory, my hands don’t instinctively reach for that power chord in the air guitar clouds. I don’t roll my R’s all Dracula/Pete Steele style when I sing along. My personal musical sense just doesn’t move that way anymore.

And I guess that makes me a little sad. I remember thinking full well, as I composed dark depressing material long into the night, that one day my stuff would be good enough to have me touring with Type O, or getting to meet Ozzy. Today, it’s just me, an old jazz and blues guy who knows that will never happen. That the days of long hair, black clothes, and loud impassioned music are done for me.

And perhaps that’s why I’m not so quick to pounce on this albums of my youth. Because that music is no longer fueling the same dream. Not that the dream has changed, but my approach is definitely different. And as such, these songs, songs that have carried me through literally half of my life, speak now more of nostalgia than purpose.

But I know they’ll get there eventually. Music like this isn’t something you let go completely. It may not be what I go running to when I need the rush, but it’s still needed. I still know, that no matter when I hear them, that shock of adrenaline hits my spine, and I can still yearn for the days when I wanted nothing more than to be like them.