"If Music Be the Food of Love..."

I've been feeling very musical lately and consequently, I've realized how much I've missed it. And, really, it's no wonder. Music can touch us in ways no other art form can and it can communicate on levels we mere mortals have yet to master. Music can turn us on, calm us down, wind us up, tell a story, make us laugh, make us cry, soothe us, entertain us; it can cross generational gaps, gender stereotypes, and county lines. Music can praise, inspire, and very often express our feelings more eloquently than we can -- as evidenced by the mix tape (or compilation CD) as the quintessential symbol of new love, old love, heartbreak, hate, angst, or any combination of the above. (SIDEBAR: I vastly prefer the idea of a tape to a CD. I mean, you really had to want that mixed tape: the two-tape deck, the stopping, starting, pausing, queuing the tape to just the right spot, the effort it took to make sure you had enough space between songs and at the beginning, and not too much space at the end of the tape...and all this AFTER you have selected the perfect play list and exact order. If you screwed that up, it could spell disaster for the whole project! The mix tape is truly a labor of love...) And, Music, more than any other medium, can allow us the complexity inherent in all individuals. Because of Music, you can dance giddily in your contact high at a Jack Johnson concert; or throw some elbows in a Goldfinger mosh pit; or scream like a little girl and sing yourself hoarse because you are in the same room as Dashboard Confessional. You can wallow in melancholy -- and LIKE it -- with Damien Rice, crank some John Denver as you drive through a Fall canyon, or make out during a jazz ensemble. Music lets you scat like a fool while you and Ella scrub the bathroom and it lets you worship at a Messiah sing-along. It makes you breathless during the Carmina Burana, or tap your toes with Jason Mraz. Music sears forever in your memory the first time you heard the Queen of the Night aria from "The Magic Flute" and the euphoria you felt the first time you hit a high A. It makes it okay to weep unabashedly when Mimi dies at the end of "La Boheme", and to let your heart break a little when you realize the Phantom has heard Christine's declarations of love to another. It doesn't tell anybody when you hit repeat so you can hear a particularly poignant set of lyrics again, and it keeps your sighs and sniffles to Itself. Music is the background for our lives, and thank the Muses for it. "...Play On!"