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i love a good album.

some records come into and out of your life with little to remember them by.  most records, probably.  you’ll get your hands on them and get a certain amount of mileage–and then you won’t even notice when you stop listening to them.  you won’t crave a certain song more than every once in a while, and you won’t miss the record if you lose it.  you may hear it at some point and be reminded of what was going on when you used to dig it, but that record just isn’t very important.  it never got inside you..

some records do though.  i have a small handful that have been keeping me good company for years–records that have been with me while drawing, writing, planning, thinking.  music is a big part of my life. it is for me and for a few of my friends, too.  it’s crucial and we can’t imagine working or living in silence.  when seamus was in portland and we were drawing every sunday morning, we’d spend the first half of the morning talking about our projects and lives and sharing stuff from the week, but we always spent the second half of church-draw with the headphones on.  we’d be lit up on coffee and drawing intently, nodding our heads.  it was always super productive.  at our thursday night draw, there’s always been at least something playing, and sometimes the music is serious and is something everyone’s focused on.  it matters.

my wife sorren is one of the only people i’ve ever been close to who seems as if she could take or leave music.  she certainly has things she likes and will openly give me shit if she doesn’t like something i’m playing, but it doesn’t play much of a role in her life.  it isn’t something she needs.  it couldn’t be more different for me.  i start every day drawing comics over coffee, and music is there.  if i ride home from this first session, often music is there.  when i’m at home cooking and playing with pug, often music is there.  if i’m working at the computer, music is definitely there.  on my ride to work music is there.  while i’m at work, i’ll shoehorn my own jams into mollys’ playlists and thus my music is there.  on my ride home music is there.

i do get tired of it and listen to books and shows and other things (my poor ipod is always being worked), but music is huge.  it’s so many things to me.  solace, inspiration, escape, company.  the engraving i have on my ipod is taken from the inscription on the back of the virginal–a 17th century dutch keyboard instrument–inside vermeer’s famous painting ‘the music lesson’ (one of my very favorite pieces of art, and a composition you could eyeball for a fucking lifetime). it’s a latin phrase i’ve slightly retooled.  MUSICA LAETITIA COMES DOLORIBUS:  “music, a joy and also a companion to sorrows.”

only the best of it really is that.  but those favorite records–the ones that give you that swelling, expansive rush and make you feel as though you’re being talked to and embraced by a real friend or a lover–how fucking great are they?

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One Comment

  1. Truer words aint never been said, bro. I miss those sunday morning jams. Been drawing with the ear cannons on since 6:30 this sunday to try and bring back the feeling but it’s a lonely church.


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