there is healing in your hands

I'm not sure how music affects most people. I think the majority of people go through life with music as a background noise. Something they hear on the radio; maybe they have a favorite song by an artist because it reminds them of a loved one or it reminds them of a party or a summer.

Other people, myself included, have a more intrinsic need for the music. When a song comes on, it triggers sense memories: the smell of someone's hair, the first taste of wine, the feel of the sun as it dries water to salt onto your skin. A song can leave you refreshed or energized, aching with loneliness, angry.

Recently I'm finding out that the reason some music is my favorite is because it heals my soul. Leading up to a concert, I generally overdose on the artists music, filling up with it so I am primed for the show. For this last Ryan Adams concert though, I found that I was just listening to Glen Phillips. I couldn't listen to Ryan at all. Talking to a friend, I realized that it is because listening to Glen sometimes heals up the tiny little cracks in my soul, like a salve upon my loneliness.

Seeing Ryan live, I was full of the energy created onstage, and I started to binge. I put all my Ryan Adams cds in and listened to them in order. I listened to dozens of live recordings. And I've been drowning in sorrow for two days straight. Where Glen's music calmed and soothed me, Ryan's music scoured my nerve endings, leaving them raw and defenseless. I can't say that one is better than the other. We need all our emotions for balance. Maybe I just need to learn not to overdo it.