Music is a magical extension of the human soul. Without it, we’d all just slowly wither away into the unbearable void of silence, or worse, be left alone with our thoughts. With it, however, we have the unparalleled power to transform our minds into a war zone of emotions. If you want to wallow in hate and lust, there’s a track for that. Need to liberate your deepest, darkest fears? Fear not, there’s a playlist ready to haunt your every step. Perhaps you’d prefer to drown your sorrows in a melancholy ballad? Music’s got your back.
Somewhere between all these emotional extremes, we find the real essence of music. It’s a sacred middle ground where no one quite knows if they’re laughing, crying, or screaming into the void. So, therein lies the beauty. Every single performance, even of a song that’s been played so many times it feels like musical wallpaper, is unique. This might explain why the same tune that made you fall in love during your college years now leaves you feeling like you’ve been smacked in the face with a nostalgia brick. That’s the magic of music.
Now, let’s not pretend that every piece of music is beautiful. Trust me, I’ve heard things that would make you reconsider the usefulness of sound itself. But somewhere, buried deep beneath layers of discord and madness, there’s always something redeemable, like a stubborn melody trying to escape a cage made of pure noise. Sure, it might be out of tune. Yes, it might make your ears bleed. But it’s there, in its own off-kilter way, as a direct link to someone’s human soul. Granted, it might be a soul in desperate need of an intervention, but still a soul, nonetheless.
Now, music may be magic. But it’s not like pulling a rabbit out of a hat; rather, it’s the kind of magic that opens a portal to an alternate universe where nothing makes sense, yet somehow everything feels profound. If you approach it thoughtfully, not just half-listening to some overproduced pre-packaged pop tracks during a grocery run, it can be an enriching experience.
Of course, there’s a distinct lack of appreciation for navigating this rich realm of sound, harmony, and meter. Some people treat music as a disposable product, like a bag of chips that they mindlessly consume without appreciating what it’s made from. Music cannot be reduced to simplistic definitions, no matter how many top 40 hits try. While it can be beauty in its purest form, it’s also very easy to have someone decide to defy its essential purpose and make it ugly instead. Oh, when it comes to turning disgusting profits, do they ever.
It’s really sad to see how far popular music has fallen in the past decade. For a good chunk of my life, music was my only friend. Real people were overrated. Music didn’t ever give me a hard time. It never asks questions, and it doesn’t judge when you play the same song on repeat for days, trying to squeeze some semblance of meaning out of it. Sure, there were a few moments when I bonded with family or friends over a shared song, but most often, my taste clashed with the people around me. Apparently, not everyone was as enamored with my carefully curated mixes of alt-rock angst and indie gloom.
Like many ‘90s kids, I started out recording mixtapes straight from the radio. At first, it was mostly country music that blared through my house—because I grew up in one of those households. Then came my top 40 phase, where I began to dip my toes into the wider world of pop. But as I grew older and slightly more rebellious, I sought something with a bit more edge, something that said, “Yes, life is absurd and horrifying, and we’re all just here to endure it.” Thus began my obsessive days of burning CDs filled with my favorite songs by random artists. While I’ve ditched pretty much all of those discs over the years, some of those songs I still cling to as if they contain the secrets of the universe.
What really propelled me into audiophilia was the sweet days of Yahoo Launchcast—one of the very first streaming services. I still maintain it was the greatest music service of all time and its discovery mix beats Apple Music or Spotify any day. I never connected with Pandora, Rhapsody, or any of those paid services. Sure, Spotify, Apple Music, and YouTube Music can get the job done, but they can’t hold a candle to Launchcast.
Spotify is as close as you’ll get to the personalization of Yahoo’s glory days. Of course, even Spotify expects you to spend an obscene amount of time training it, like some needy digital pet. Yes, I was there for the Tamagotchi, and this feels a lot like it. Meanwhile, Apple Music keeps shuffling the same five songs over and over again and makes me feel like I’m living in some really boring version of the film Groundhog Day.
While I have mixed feelings about the streaming era, I’ll admit it’s miles better than the old radio model we suffered through for generations. Indeed, the democracy of streaming music was almost charming—until, like anything popular, it gets its soul sucked out and manipulated by corporate overlords. Still, it beats being force-fed whatever was trending on FM radio, which honestly even back then was a crime against good taste most of the time.
Despite music being everywhere now, it’s somehow nowhere as valued. It’s become another commodity like fast food or fast fashion. I’m not a fan of fast music, that’s for sure. But there’s still plenty of talent out there and even great generational talents on the charts today—if only they’d stop making what was trendy and make something that’s their own. In any case, music is my magical companion. Sure, it’s deeply flawed and frequently misunderstood, but no matter what, it’s always there to keep me company in this absurd, discordant masterpiece we call life.
~ Amelia Desertsong, October 30, 2024