Friday, October 17, 2014

The Spark of Music

My parents were atheists, born of an era when Jews flocked to America to avoid pogroms in Europe or stayed and got trapped by Nazi insanity.

My father, a second generation American, also grew up in a tough area of the Bronx, a member of the only Jewish family amongst street-wise Italian immigrants. He reports that he had to fist-fight his way through the neighborhood on a regular basis.

My parents felt that there was no God - as who would allow such atrocities on this earth -  and thus turned to music as their divine source; he a violinist, she a pianist.

As a latent mystic, it irked me no end when my father pronounced with unerring regularity, "Music is God." Sure, music can elevate the dragging soul and lift it to ecstatic heights, but so can heroine.

Ecstatic bliss may feel good, yet what goes up must come down. An endless stream of consciousness goes on and on and on. (That train of thought never went down well with the parental units.)

But today, even this obstinant, pig-headed daughter must admit that music can potentially raise the dead. As I slogged through bills and paperwork that has been lost in space along with the addressee, a tune came on Pandora: "The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys," by Traffic.

The Bose was turned way down to enable me to converse with billing departments (I always give a credit card to get miles) when that Traffic classic began to play. I kept telling myself it was OK to listen softly and continue the long overdue paper pushing momentum. But ever so gradually, the low spark became a high spark and my ass left its seat, my feet lead me to the Bose, and up went the volume as I rocked out to the last verses.

So for all those sad souls and happy souls and inbetween souls, turn on your favorite tunes and dance! Either way, it will donate to your day a feel good moment or two.

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