The Purity of the Tune

I love music, but I find it difficult to write about music. There is the whole “dancing about architecture” difficulty in reducing anything so sublime yet ineffable to mere words, but for me the problem runs deeper: music sneaks its way into my brain at a sub-analytical layer, effectively evading my higher analytical processing centers.

And that’s why I love it so, I think, because when I listen I don’t think.

I suppose I could sit at the keyboard and force myself to describe in words what I am hearing, but in doing that I fear I’d break down the barriers that have for so long protected music from my higher reasoning centers.

So I generally avoid the topic.

One thing did occur to me today, though, what with all the hubbub surrounding the death of a pop star, and that was to marvel at the sheer amount of interest in that person that had nothing to do with that person’s music. In fact, with all those extracurriculars to contend with, it is doubful anyone could even listen to that person’s music as music.

One music area I gravitate to is pre-war (WWII) American rural music, a category that includes blues, folk and country tunes. Lacking a better descriptor, I’ve decided to refer to it by the acronym PWARM.

Anyways, listening to Dick Justice’s “Brown Skin Blues,” a PWARM song that’s currently worming its way deep into my brain, it occurred to me that I know nothing about Dick Justice. All I have is his song, his voice, his guitar. So there’s a purity in his tune, a listening experience unadulterated by extraneous information.

This is common with PWARM artists, most of whom recorded a few forgotten tunes before disappearing. When you listen to them, there’s nothing to distract you.

Except news reports about a recently deceased pop star.