I’ve had occasion to reassess my perception of how much music really means to me lately (as in the last year or so, not the last week). When I say “means to me”, I’m being deliberately ambiguous, I’ve considered how much I actually understand in musical terms, and as a consequence; would I really be devastated if I never heard another note? If the music, quite literally, died? The answer to the latter, is, I think, “No”. At least not compared to how I’d feel if I could never read another word. I think I’ve always thought that the reason I can’t play an instrument is that I’ve never been bothered to work at learning it. Which is undobtedly true, to a certain extent. However, I now doubt if I’d actually ever be very good, even if I threw all my energy into it. I don’t think I’m “musical” enough. And how have I come to this conclusion? Well, I’ve been analysing my reaction to classical music. My favourite piece of classical music is Beethoven’s 9th, and my favourite part of that isn’t even the music, it’s Schiller’s Ode an die Freude. It’s the words and rhythm and the way the music underlines the words and rhythm I get a kick out of, not the music on it’s own. Music without words is nice, but boring. I have preferences – I like Rossini better than Mozart (even with words, as I generally don’t understand the words anyway) – but I find that my preferences, if analysed, actually have more to do with the “rhythm” of a piece than with any (other) musical merit. I like percussion, or other instruments “acting like” percussion. I’m not sure I’m explaining this very well…
Anyway, this is why “Music in my head” is normally technically “Lyric in my head”. A song needs a good tune, of course, but a good tune with a lousy lyric is a sure-fire way of annoying me. A good lyric with a lousy tune, I can tolerate. A good lyric without a tune (otherwise known as a poem), can still be “Music in my head”.
On the other hand, though I can’t sing, really (which doesn’t mean I don’t do it anyway), I can tell a false note from a clear one, within reason. Which all makes me wonder why I love the Eurovision Song Contest so much. The tunes are generally pretty lousy, the lyrics, quite frankly, suck (on the whole, letting everyone sing in English was a bad idea, it means we can actually “understand” (word used in it’s widest sense (look: parenthesis within parenthesis!), naturally) the lyrics, and that is not necessarily a good thing – mostly, it’s a major drawback, making otherwise forgettable songs so truly appaling that they haunt me months later), and half the performers can’t actually carry a tune. It’s good fun, though.
“Music” in the room: sound of a train on the local line; katchunk-katchunk-katchunk