Magic

So I got some new music again, and just a little over a minute into the first song, I wished fervently—to the point of violence—that I could compose music myself.

This isn't the first time I've wanted to be musically inclined, but it is the only time in recent memory that I've desired compositional ability over vocal ability. Generally, I just long to be able to sing along to whatever it is without shame—because, dear imaginary reader, MY singing voice is about as appealing as that of a yak that's been smoking a pack a day of Camel straights for 20 years running—but this time I truly longed to be able to create the music itself.

The album was The Fury of Our Maker's Hand by Devildriver, and the song was the first on the disc: "End of the Line." I know what you're thinking, and you're right: my dad would NOT buy me this album, for he would not consider the album title, band name, or song name to be indicative of anything he'd like to spend money on, even if it WAS a specifically-asked-for gift. But that's beside the point, because the first minute of that song is SO heavy-metal lovely that I actually thought I was on the cusp of some incredible new musical experience that could, should, and would absolutely transcend anything I've ever felt before.

It was as if there was some heavy weight being lifted directly out of my heart—something broken or misaligned or just wrong that was being removed—and the means by which this error was being corrected was simply through the force of musical notes, combined just so, vibrating out of the stereo and into the very core of my Self ... a magical, inexplicable eruption of pure experience that I had not even imagined could exist. And then ...

Well, then Devildriver changed the tempo and the crescendo and they just plain lost me. The chills went away, the thrill went away, and although the tune was still headbangingly good fun, it was nothing—NOTHING—more than that. I felt as if my new toy had been mashed into component plastic before me, and my imagination had BEEN that toy; I wondered if the intro had been anywhere near as good as I'd thought, when I honestly believed it was about to heal something so fundamental and intrinsic that if a doctor had been going to fix it with a pill, I would have been scared out of my fucking mind. It was really, REALLY weird.

And the very weirdest part was that although I lost something I wanted very much when the music lost me, I didn't mourn the loss. I laughed instead. It was magic, you see, and you don't get to find magic when you want it; it finds you. And you don't miss it when you don't get to keep it; you just revel in the fact that you had it for however long you did.