Soundtrack

When I was little, I used to think that my mother's Walkman was absolutely magical. I could just put in a tape, wear the headphones, and be transported to Hollywood. The best was to walk or bike around with a song playing in my ear. If I just imagined the headphones away, the song came from the sky, lighting up the world with a melody wherever I chose to walk. It was a giddy feeling, with some power to it. The movie, of course, was about me, and my bike ride, which was of course headed toward someplace thrilling. But listening to that Walkman, I owned those movie moments.

Today I took another walk (think), and decided to bring my iPod along. The first song to come on the shuffle was a beautiful trickling song with a heartbeat that was exactly the right walking pace. And I was in a movie again, just like when I was five. The whole bit-- smiling at the neighbors, smelling the flowers, looking up at the sky and laughing. It was like I had just had a moment of conviction, or something grand had happened to me, or I had let go of a long-guarded fear. But I hadn't. I had simply woken up and taken a walk.

Films and plays can show music as integrated into life. Not only is the soundtrack integrated into the action of a film-- it can illuminate, even elevate, the action. Why is this grace afforded only to the lives that we invent in scripts? Why can't we hear the ominous cello under our darkest decisions or the swell of strings at our first kiss?

Perhaps it is because we only understand what is really happening when we view it from above. It is then that we can pick the perfect song to bring the moment its truth. Maybe music is a necessarily reflective activity; we make music to express something we have experienced, not something we are experiencing. Maybe the music will come with the moment when all things are new.

This is one reason why I love the movies.