Never risk listening to those aching songs you love on nights when you’re too tired to breathe without hearing your own breath admitting how little breath you have left ahead of you compared to how much exhaling has already come and gone. Nostalgia, yes.
To wit:
“How many a year has passed and gone / Many a gamble has been lost and won / And many a road taken by many a first friend / And each one I’ve never seen again
I wish, I wish, I wish in vain / That we could sit simply in that room again / Ten thousand dollars at the drop of a hat / I’d give it all gladly if our lives could be like that”
— Dylan, “Bob Dylan’s Dream,” 1963
Because some nights, you take out the wisp-haired bow. The dusty rosin. That chipped violin. You do these things, and commence then to fiddle up and down the warped bridge of your own life.
And on some of those very some nights, the music is just beautiful, I suppose. But then, on some of those other some nights. Oh, those nights.
Those nights you just hear all the goddamn missed notes.
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Comments
It is difficult, indeed, when one has such a keen ear for the missed notes. And yet, one is compelled to continue playing, even poorly, rather than simply listening to the music of others. For the feel of it, you know? The key seems to be to play on, versus starting over with each wrong note. Oh, and not making a bad face; that’s important too! In the end, with the right choice of music and a few good friends, it’s a life well played- missed notes and all.
$10K indeed. $50K, adjusted for inflation, but still…..