Musical Musings #1

Music to me is a perfect representation of the wider universe. In a cunningly subtle state, it is delightfully random yet simultaneously reliant upon invisible mathematical structures. These properties can be grouped and manipulated to create meaning beyond the system itself. Tapping into the frequencies of musical radiation is reassuringly therapeutic because it allows me to exert control over a force and very quickly become unconsciously intertwined with that force. The greatest artists of any form often describe their creations as gifts from above; fragments of beauty dropped quietly into their mind and delivered outward through the medium of their preference. This suggested separation of art and artist is only natural for participants in a society that commonly refuses to allow the interlacing of science and spirituality, but does not appear to be inherent in the act itself. The simple observation that the notes I play may not be consciously planned does not serve as absolute proof for divine injection. Underneath our admittedly poorly understood conscious brain lies an even less traversed area of neuroscience: the unconscious. This brain is not familiar, is not noticed, and is therefor not even considered by many people. It is here, I believe, that musical prowess is stored, accessed, and evolved.

Tapping into the frequencies of musical radiation is reassuringly therapeutic because it allows me to exert control over a force and very quickly become unconsciously intertwined with that force.

Each time a flurry of vibrations escapes the strings of my guitar and is captured, converted, and reproduced by the real-time aural machinery in my head, an automatic process is activated to determine whether that piece was beautiful or shit. However, if that same action were taken during my first year of playing, that process would be manual. The difference between someone who is musically inclined and someone who is not is nothing more than experience. Though my best work certainly feels foreign in its initial stages, it quickly becomes such an obvious representation of my feelings that a more likely conclusion would be to imagine a secret subprocess creating these things, a sort of underground indie-rock group living just below the surface of the daily brain. Each time an event produces a reaction strong enough to surpass the threshold of my conscious ability, the band catches a break and releases a single into the harsh world of reality. No longer safe from the judgement of practicality, these typically short bursts of creative work, while satisfying to produce, always take a toll and require some recovery time before repeating the cycle.

Routinely delving into the deeper mind to retrieve spiritual gems would be my ideal form of living. Currently, the society and the life-pattern that I have been steered toward does not support this desire. In its place, consequently, I ignore the creative yearnings in my heart in favor of working for a college degree; for money and society and stability. I do this until a either cataclysmic event (or a death-by-a-thousand-papercuts scenario) forces the music out of me, often with violent undertones and always with significant personal disruption.

Because music is reflective of the universe with its inherent laws, ability for extrapolation, and accessibility to most people, I think it is a respectable subject for studying the human brain. If we can find physical differences between an average brain (pre-musical) and an enlightened one (post-musical), then we can actually look at the processes by which creation is driven.

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