You are best to read this chapter with your Apple Music, Spotify, or YouTube open. Music has always been an essential part of my life. My tastes span all genres and vintages, so it is virtually impossible for me to obtain all the copyright permissions I need from the artists I want to quote. Instead, I have identified and described the songs below. It's up to you if you want to listen directly.
When I was young, I took piano lessons for about three years. I played in several recitals and passed my grade 2 elementary piano examination at the Royal Conservatory of Music. My piano teacher, Mrs. Brown always said I have potential. Of course, I know now that such comments are not a promise for the future but a compliment in the moment. She was disappointed when I quit. It came about under a strange set of circumstances.
I was around 11 or 12 when I had my first mental crisis. I remember it was Christmas time. I went to bed as usual and then just started crying. I couldn't stop myself. My older sister noticed and tried to cheer me up. She had given me a hockey net for Christmas and was showing me the poster that came with it. She asked what was wrong. I didn't know why I was so sad at the time, so I said I wanted to stop piano lessons even though I didn't mind them. I got out of school 15 minutes early every Thursday, so what was there not to like. At any rate, my sister told my mom, and my music lessons stopped. There was no follow-up. No questions about mental health. It was strictly seen as a cause-and-effect situation, and the cause was removed.
I returned to the piano when I was a teenager. I was a massive fan of James Bond movies. For my 16th birthday, we rented 5 James Bond films and my friend, and I watched them on the VCR, back to back the whole night long while consuming copious amounts of BBQ chips and Root Beer. I was thrilled to find a music book dedicated to the movie themes. I couldn't read the music at sight, so I translated the music notes into alpha notes and then learned the piece by memory. I actually got pretty good. Nobody Does It Better from The Spy Who Loved Me was my favorite. My sister and mother would request that one often. I taught myself a number of the themes the same way, each time writing the corresponding letter under each note. Around the holidays, I would expand my repertoire to include Christmas carols and Winter songs. (My mother made sure I understood the distinction. Any song with Santa or Frosty was not a Christmas carol.) The only Santa song I learned was Santa Claus is Coming to Town. The carols I knew were The First Noel (which is basically the same tune for the verse and the chorus.), Oh Little Town of Bethlehem and While Shepherds Wash Their Socks by Night (See Chapter on Religion)
Unfortunately, I don't remember how to play because I never really took the time to learn how to read music. I know the odd chord, but the skill is lost.
I had a therapist once who pushed me to get a hobby. When I told her that I used to play the piano, she encouraged me to take it up again. I managed to borrow a keyboard and had good intentions. I couldn't find my original James Bond songbook, so I bought a new one online. But when I sat down to play and was faced with a clean sheet of music without my alpha notations, I was overwhelmed. It gave me a new appreciation of what I had accomplished before. Of course, the critic identified me as a musical imposter. I wish my memory was better, and I could still play even just one tune to prove him wrong, but I don't want to re-learn the tricks.
I eventually grew out of James Bond. I lost interest in the nineties. It wasn't that I hated Pierce Brosnan or Daniel Craig. There was a six-year hiatus between Licensed to Kill and GoldenEye, and in that time, I guess I grew up. I got married, was hired, was fired, started my own business, and started my own family. I occasionally watch my favourite scenes on YouTube but rarely view the whole movie from beginning to end. Today, my old favourites seem dated and juvenile. And the new movies, while entertaining, no longer hold the same importance as Bond films once did.
My career as a musician didn’t end with piano lessons. In Grade 8 music, I played the trumpet. I remember feeling very important as I blared out the opening fanfare of the Theme from Rocky. There were no chords or harmonies like the piano, so you didn't have to worry about the positioning of ten fingers, just combinations of the three valves. I caught on quickly and could read the individual notes from the sheet music. And so it surprised everyone when I decided not to take music at high school. My Grade 8 teacher and my principal thought it was an oversight on my part when I had made my Grade 9 course selections. They offered to intervene on my behalf to change it since the deadline had passed, but I said "No." My older brother and older sisters were all in the high school band. I heard horror stories around the dinner table of how the Music teacher, Mr. Heinz, would yell at them and throw the conductor's baton or pieces of chalk at students when they weren't playing well. Also, I had to sit through their concerts as a kid. I didn't want to do that again, even if I was the one performing. Most of all, though, I wanted to do something different than the rest of the clan, so I selected Grade 9 Latin instead. (See Chapter on Latin).
As I mentioned before, my taste in music is varied. A lot of my high school pop music consumption was visual. I would come home from school and watch the latest music videos on Much Music. I was exposed to many other music genres through my family. My father liked gospel and country music like Charlie Pride and Gordon Lightfoot. My mother preferred Hooked on Classics and Paul Simon. My brother loved old-time rock and roll like The Rolling Stones and BTO. My one sister fancied Chris de Burgh and Styx, while my other sister liked to sing show tunes such as Annie, Joseph and his Technicolour Dream Coat, as well as Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody.
Growing up, I always dreaded the question, "What kind of music do you like?" If you are not careful, you can be pigeonholed or excluded. If you say classical, you're aloof; Heavy Metal, you're a headbanger; Country, you're a good ol' boy, and for god's sake, don't say you like the Bee Gees. The refrain in high school was always "disco sucks." You could never admit you liked Staying Alive, even if it's a lifetime favourite that makes you strut with confidence. And then there were the subgenres. If you liked David Bowie, it had to be before the release of the Let's Dance album. Duran Duran was a girls' band, so you couldn't like their music too much, but you could definitely admire their music videos. Scantily clad women dancing and writhing was always a hit for adolescent boys. That is what made ZZ Top so popular at the time.
As I got older the distinction between genres blurred. Music that used to be divisive in high school, such as KISS vs. ABBA, and Iron Maiden vs. A-ha, now live together on the "oldies" station BOOM 97.3. You don't have to commit to a specific genre. You can just listen to the soundtrack of your youth.
And somewhere along the line, near the end of high school, I discovered Depeche Mode and The Alan Parson's Project. DM's ability to combine a complex collection of dissonant sounds into an unexpectedly harmonious soundscape beguiled me. Each song was intricate and layered. I would listen and re-listen with my headphones each time, exploring a different aspect of the piece. They remain a favourite. I even like a couple of songs from their latest album.
The Alan Parsons Project recorded my favourite meditative albums. Each one had a different theme, such as gambling and midlife crisis (Turn of a Friendly Card), selfishness and dishonesty of modern culture (Vulture Culture) and themes of death and impermanence (Pyramid). I would lie down, close my eyes and listen to the entire album from start to finish. The individual songs flowed seamlessly into one another. I would lose myself and refresh my mind. And in the end, as the last note played, I would slowly open my eyes, relaxed and safe.
As I have gotten older, I don’t meditate much. I rarely listen to an album all the way through. My critic argues against wasting so much time since I already spend an hour each day exercising with TicToc. (See Chapter on Exercise) If I immersed myself in musical meditation, that would be another hour. I once heard that if you think you don't have time for meditation, you need it all the more. The critic is not buying it. I don’t listen to The Alan Parsons Project anymore.
While I usually think of The Alan Parsons Project in terms of albums, they did compose the most devastating song: "Day after Day." It is not the melody but the lyrics that hit hard. They are directed at me, and all I can do is acquiesce. I have missed my chance, and time must march on.
I also love classical music. Although I often listen to Classical FM on the radio or, rather, my smart speaker when I'm cooking or driving alone in the car, I have only a few symphonic compositions in my Spotify library. Rachmaninov is my favourite composer. I especially like his second symphony, and more specifically, the Adagio. This is my all-time favourite - play at my funeral - movement. The Toronto Symphony Orchestra plays it once every three or so years, and I attend every time. I usually go alone because no one else feels it like I do. Symphony 2 is an hour well spent, but the 15-minute Adagio is the jewel. If you go to the concert, don't start clapping during the fermata (a silent pause around 8:14 minutes into the Adagio). It is very annoying when you wait two to three years for it to be performed, only to have someone break the spell. The moment of silence before the reboot of the theme is magical. After which instruments call out tentatively one bt one inviting the clarinet to return and pick up the melody.
I also like Rachmaninov's Theme of Paganini Op.43, Variation 12. I find this to be the most tranquil, 1 minute and 9 seconds ever written. The melody and the harmony float. They steal my breathing and soothe my thoughts.
Mozart's Requiem is powerful and inspiring. If you see this live, make sure your seats are facing the stage straight on because the choir's voice does carry so well out the sides of their mouths. This gem is not performed very often, so pay extra for a seat out front and get the full immersive experience.
Albonini's Adagio in G minor is sad and haunting, making it the perfect soundtrack to Virgil's description of the fall of Troy. (See Chapter on Latin)
I also like the themes Murray Gold wrote for the TV series Doctor Who. I have been a lifelong fan of the series, which ran counter to one of my therapist's tastes (See Chapter on Therapists). I originally discovered the show when I was a kid. This was in the seventies when Tom Baker was the Doctor. I remember watching it every Saturday at 7:00 p.m. on TVO. Even at the time, I knew the special effects were awful. In fact, when I saw the BBC Radiophonic Workshop in the credits, I thought it was some sort of college program. The funny thing with Doctor Who is that you get it and admire the story despite the naive special effects, or you can't get past them to enjoy it. When Doctor Who returned in 2005, I was so excited. My son was 6 and hooked as much as I was. One of the standouts of the new show was Murray Gold's soundtrack. Gone were the synthesizer squiggling, and in were rich and timeless symphonic themes. "I Am the Doctor" is an epic confidence builder, much like the music from Pirates of the Caribbean. Try washing dishes to this theme, and you will be done in a flash. Or watch a sunset to the emotional Vale Decem. (I love that it's in Latin - “Goodbye 10”. See Chapter on Latin) Or float on the sadness of Madame De Pompadour. All are beautiful compositions.
Overall, I prefer to listen to music with headphones on. It is a private experience that I can unapologetically partake in without the possibility of offending others with my musical taste. I would go for walks in university with my Sony Discman providing the soundtrack. Everything seemed better. If I came across other people, though, I removed my headphones to ensure I had all my senses about me. I don't listen to music in public anymore. There are too many people out walking in my suburban neighbourhood. Occasionally, I lay down on my bed and lose myself in the music. I rarely listen to a whole album anymore. This is primarily due to Spotify, which, when searched, tends to prioritize individual songs and playlists over entire albums. I don't lose myself for an hour; I go song by song for ten to twenty minutes. The drawback is I lose the meditative experience that once refreshed my mind.
I generally don't like listening to music through a speaker, especially when it is turned way up. As a little boy, I used to pray when we went to parades that the marching bands would not start to play when they were in front of us. I preferred if they just marched by accompanied by the drums. I also didn't like the sound of trucks on the main street of Markham. I would walk with my hands over my ears.
Because I still don't enjoy loud music, I have only been to a few live concerts outside of the symphony, which, by the way, is played at the perfect volume.
For me, a live rock concert is too loud. To enjoy it, you must already have the tune in mind because it is often not discernible. Before having kids, I went to four concerts: James (Inspired by the song Sometimes), EMF (A one hit wonder (Unbelievable), who played their hit song twice. I think I won the tickets or something), The Cure (My wife's favourite band) and Neil Young (My first exposure to mass marijuana use). I went to a Depeche Mode concert this year. It was too loud but I enjoyed the visual effects.
When my children came along, my concert genres changed dramatically. With my son Jacob, I saw the Wiggles. Instead of Blasphemous Rumours, I sang along to Henry's Dance and the Big Red Car. And with my daughter, Hannah, I went to the Big Summer Ticket. We were surrounded by screaming girls as R5 blasted their hit, A Billion Hits. It was fun to share in her excitement.
Music isn't just for listening. I used to use it as a mnemonic device. I would pick a song for each high school or university exam I had to write. Before I studied a specific subject, I would play the chosen song, often a James Bond theme. I would then play it again when I was finished studying and once more right before I sat down to write the exam. It proved to be an effective way for me to compartmentalize information and remember it, at least in the short term. Of course, most of the material was subsequently lost in the days, months and years after the exam. More proof my critic uses to call me an academic imposter.
I use music in many different ways to manage my mental health. Sometimes, it's easy to forget the importance of those around you. One strategy I use is to make a playlist for each of my children. They are both a work in constant process created over years.
When I hear a song that evokes a memory about them, I add it to their Spotify list on my phone. More often than not, the actual lyrics have nothing to do with the memory connected to it. Instead, it was whatever was happening at the time I heard it.
My son's playlist includes everything from the Wiggles (Hot Potato) to Frank Sinatra (New York, New York) to Young MC (Busta Move). One reminds me of the live Wiggles concert we went to together at Roger's Centre, the other of New Year's Eve in front of the TV watching Time’s Square, and finally, when, as a man, he went up on stage in Mexico and sang Karaoke.
On my daughter's playlist, Coleman Hell (Fireproof) recalls when we hid from a torrential downpour in Ottawa, giggling at getting under cover just in time. Also included on her list is the song Attention by Charlie Puth. We always laugh and sing along to the misheard lyrics, "You've been running 'round, running 'round, running 'round, throwing that turtle on my name."
I rarely actually listen to the playlists. Instead, I scroll down and review the memories, letting each one flourish inside me. If I listen to one of the songs in another context or hear it on the radio, I shut my eyes and suspend myself in the happy moment. If I hear a new song that triggers a specific memory of my children, I add it to their playlists.
I also have my own playlists. One is called "Up," while the other is "Not Tonight." “Up” is full of positive lyrics and/or upbeat music, such as TNT by AC/DC, Take On Me by A-ha, It's A Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong, Sympathy with the Devil by the Rolling Stones, Return To Innocence by Enigma, Octopus's Garden by the Beatles. Unlike my children’s playlists mine are not associated with memories. It is the how the song itself effects me, how specific lyrics resonate. Some are romantic, some reflective, some have infectious bass lines, while others are just whimsy and escape.
"Not Tonight" has songs of defeat or despair, such as Creep by Radiohead, Have You Ever Seen The Rain by CCR, Not Tonight by Depeche Mode, Forever Young by Alphaville, Black Parade by My Chemical Romance (which I used in a video Obit I made for myself.), and Happens to the Heart by Leonard Cohen. I also include Don't Stop Believing by Journey. Some people see this song as hopeful and encouraging. I just feel like a failure. You will note that the playlist does not adhere to any genre of music or musical era. They are just songs that strike a chord and hold me in their grasp. They have one lyric that I can’t dispute or there is a devastating chord change that influences the emotion.
Both playlists are lengthy and robust, but they only reinforce my current emotion. They don't influence the opposite mood. If I’m feeling depressed and put on the “Up” playlist, nothing will happen. It won’t change my perspective. If anything, it gets me annoyed. The critic dismisses the songs as frivolous. After the first few notes, it immediately feels wrong, and I stop listening. If I’m already happy, though, the music lives inside me. I become light on my feet and glide on the lyrics and the melody. If I am alone, I might even dance foot loose and free. I even surprise myself!
Similarly, listening to the “Not Tonight” list when I’m happy feels wrong. I turn it off immediately. When I am low, though, the playlist is my companion. The words and melodies are like earworms that further reinforce my depression. They don’t push me to suicide but rather to spend time in conversation with the critic.
If I happen to hear any of my playlist songs in public, I’m immediately triggered. An “Up” song puts a smile on my face and a pep in my step, while a song from “Not Tonight” triggers my depression and the critic appears.
There is only one soundtrack to my suicide. Every time I hear A Dazzling End by Murray Gold, a fissure opens between my thoughts, up and down, my eyes close, and I visualize what needs to be done. It’s an all-consuming breath of motivation. I fall back in a hypnotic state. I rarely listen to this song because it is so powerful. I know one day it will be the last thing I will hear. It is the ultimate trigger not only of thought but of action; where the critic wins and is finally defeated, and I can rest on an endless repeat.
