It is that bone-deep experience of music, the kind that goes beyond the ears and into the heart and soul, that Richard Harvell attempts to capture in his novel The Bells. And I am more than familiar with the kind of magic that occurs when a great piece of music is put in the hands of an amazing artist, and of that moment when music stops being something one just listens to, but becomes something one experiences. I’m also quite capable of appreciating an artist’s performance, whether as a vocalist or on an instrument. While there are times when I use music as a background-filler while doing something else, I am capable of appreciating a good soundtrack for a film, video game, or TV show, of pointing out when it works or when it doesn’t. I might have a song I favour during a specific moment, yes, but come back to me the next day, or even the next hour, and ask me the same question, and I am apt to give a different response.ĭespite this, I enjoy listening to music. And it always makes me nervous when someone asks me what my favourite song is, because, in truth, I do not really have one. I do not anticipate album drops with any level of interest or excitement. I do not have a list of favourite bands or performers – or rather, I do, but that list is always negotiable and open to change.
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