There are times when I'll be driving along, probably zoning out, probably applying only minimal attention to the task at hand, when whatever song I'm listening to at the time* will swell, will fill the car, will, arguably, fill my heart (at least in a maudlin metaphorical sense I'm loath to admit having a particular weakness for). Now, let's just be out with it straightaway so there's no confusion: When it comes to music (well, and all of life, considering my proclivities toward using the English language as both a weapon and an olive branch simultaneously)--as I said, when it comes to music, I'm a lyrics person. Some folks are strictly swooned by the swelling of a melody, a harmony here or there; some wax lyrical about the production values - that snare usage there or how reverb was such an unexpected choice (is it ever, really?). Some even get a little weak at the knees for unconventional time signatures (I suppose that explains Thom Yorke's dance moves, right?). But I'm a lyrics person. I use the term "lyrics" intentionally apart from the term "poetry," because one might suggest that words when separated from their music might function as poetry but they'd be incorrect. As incorrect, anyway, as suggesting that a mojito made without rum is still a cocktail. It isn't, it's just sweetened soda at that point. Its existence has merit, sure, but not as a mojito. Similarly, lyrics lacking a tune aren't poetry any more than poetry set to music makes a great song. Sure, there are the Patti Smiths out there who blur the line, but one of the crucial elements of pairing a melody with words is the way in which those words, when sung, interact with the music itself.
And there's magic in that. I'm not a big proponent of overly romanticizing every single moment life throws my way, and I despise anything that might identify itself too comfortably with the term "twee," but not even this curmudgeonly author here could argue against the simple fact that when a song is on, when it's turned up to an appropriate level, and when the singer (or singers) of that song find a way to bend the English language** around a particular tone or swell or melodic undercurrent, well, there's magic in it. Words express a great deal, but music picks at a chord buried too deeply within any of us to accurately describe. When words and music find a way to coalesce, even if it's only briefly, there's nothing I could say, no matter how deftly I employ whatever particular talents I might possess with grammar and syntax, there's nothing I could say that would trump that emotional juggernaut. The lyrics win every time.
There are too many winning lyrics that come to mind for me to even begin listing examples here. But that's why I've started posting little
quotes in the past couple of months, if you've noticed. A lyric and its singer**** paired and spotlit. Maybe you're familiar with the reference or maybe you aren't, but what it represents, for me, is a sort of tribute to those little magic moments I'm loath to describe. It's a transcendent glimmer of something suggesting holiness while driving in my car or sitting at my computer or wandering down the street. I'll leave you with a quote, a non-lyrical one by a favorite author of mine, Nick Hornby:*****
"...I love the relationship that anyone has with music: because there's something in us that is beyond the reach of words, something that eludes and defies our best attempts to spit it out. It's the best part of us, probably, the richest and strangest part[.]"
*Unless under moments of severe emotional duress, I'll always be listening to something. The variable isn't whether my stereo is on but rather what happens to be pouring from its speakers at any given time.
**I'm assuming it's exactly same for any other language but since my only mastery is English, I'm fated to merely hazard a guess about similar magical moments in French or in Spanish or in Arabic or what have you. And I'll also go out on a limb and say that Elfin or some other made-up language likely holds a similar property, but then again, no one's necessarily going to buy as easily into your claims of magic when you're Tolkien-esque lilt is entirely made up.***
***Though I suppose any twee hipster worth his weight in denim could, in theory, play the Sigur Ros card and sit back smugly with his hands folded behind his head, but at that point I'd have already left the proverbial room on grounds of sheer boredom. So there we have it.
****Though not always its author, I'll point out, to prematurely deflect any would-be Rob Flemings out there who might like to pounce all over my alleged lack of encyclopedic music knowledge. MEA CULPA, you hear me? Fast track your complaints to the "I'm too old for this" department and I'll get back to you shortly.
*****Speaking of Rob Fleming. That was a coincidence; those separate trains of thought were on different tracks, I promise you.
Two days of gorgeous weather is more of a cock-tease than anything. I might actually have Seasonal Affected (Affective?) Disorder. 
