Bagpipes Give Me the Feels (Or, How I'm Too Full to Write Anything of Actual Substance)
I've always wanted to date someone who plays the bagpipes. Or at least knows how to play the bagpipes.
See, every time I hear that distant drone start up, there's an instinctual welling in my chest, my back straightens a little, and there is a definite misting of my almost-too-heartbreakingly-blue eyes (#modesty).
That's exactly what we should feel when we see our person, isn't it?
Oh my God. And the drums.
Maybe the next best thing to a bagpiper, would be a pipe band drummer. Sweet baby Jesus help me if I found someone who could do both. Both, and that they like DeFazio's, obvi.
Bagpipes are difficult, I know.
I know they're not for everyone, and sometimes they're hard to listen to, for some people. Not for me, man. I can handle the harshness. I'm no fragile flower, regardless of what instrument is being played. I actually prefer things with more complex...instruments that take some understanding.
There's just something about that one long continuous note of the drone behind a bagpipe melody that punches me right in the gut and makes all the hair on my body I haven't waxed off stand on end.
I heard someone call bagpipes an emotional battering ram once, which is weird because "Emotional Battering Ram" is my stage name.
It's so steady. It's so flat against something so sharp. It makes no sense.
The actual definition of my life.
It's the uniqueness that tugs at the place where I would have heartstrings if I wasn't dead inside. I get the plight of the bagpipe. They don't necessarily play well with others, and the only one who can really keep up with their demands is the drum.
(Oh boy. I see it now. I need a drum to my bagpipe.)
So yeah, ok, an appreciation for bagpipes *might* be associated with heritage and/or cultural exposure, sure. But I know we all tear up when we hear "Amazing Grace" piped out at a funeral. Ok, that might be the funeral part, but still...
Bagpipes aren't the only thing to get my waters working, music just has a way of doing that to us, doesn't it?
Music (or rather, sound), second only to smell, can transport us back to an exact moment in time. It can help us get out of our own mundane day and put us in a fantastic world of our own. It makes us want to move our bodies. It makes us want to move our bodies with someone else, if you catch my clearly well disguised drift.
Music is the way we tell stories. It's the way we are first soothed by our caregivers. Music defines who we are, and who we aspire to be. It's the way we identify in our culture. Don't believe me? Think about the way you dressed at 18, and then let me know what kind of music you listened to. If you're telling me that you owned that belt buckle and went to a Korn concert, I'd call you a dirty liar.
Or maybe the coolest person I've ever met. Get back to me if you're single.
Do you ever get a lump in your throat when you hear a song that your first boyfriend/girlfriend said was "your song?" Does that one Christmas album ever make you sort of smell cookies in the oven? How do you feel when you hear "Eye of the Tiger?" Or "Bohemian Rhapsody?" How about an opening theme of a show that makes you miss your best friend?
Soundtracks in movies are such a great example of the way music an stir emotions without us even being aware.
The vacuum of the lack of music in a scene can do the same if placed well. Take Titanic, for example.
YOU SHUT YOUR WET MOUTH....THAT'S A GREAT MOVIE!
I'm so sorry for that outburst.
Do you remember the scene where Rose is in a hallway looking for help because Jack is handcuffed (and not in a good way) to a pipe or something, and he's totally going down with the ship unless Rose can do something? She runs into people who can't help her, or wont, and she finally realizes she needs to take matters into her own hands.
Well, somewhere in there, there is this part where she's feeling hopeless in this hall, and the lights go out. There's no music, and no lights, just the sound of her panicked breathing.
Thennnn, there's the scene where airy'body is about to be dead as a doornail (whatever that means), and they fade out the sound of the terrifying rushing water and screaming, and slap in the super sad sounds of the ship band's violinist playing "Nearer My God To Thee."
Oh baby. If you were here, I'd slap you across the face. Damn that's great music placement, or whatever it is.
It doesn't argue back, but it does speak its truth. It literally moves your brain waves. It can calm your amygdala or stimulate your nervous system. It can sucker-punch you with nostalgia, and also spark excitement and creativity with its novelty.
We all have a favorite song, even a favorite genre. We even have songs that make us grind our teeth with rage.
I have weirdly strong feelings regarding the flute: as in I hate it. I think the oboe is the next best thing to the bagpipe. Maybe that's because my best friend in high school played an oboe. Maybe it's because of the Swan Lake theme.
Whatever, I'm into reed instruments and mustard. What can I say?
Like a well timed kiss, I suppose, music is one of those rare things that can be given, stolen, loved, loathed, pined for, bought, sold, and kept hidden.
It's freaking magical.
Music is one of the few things that will pump me up enough to look at the person next to me and ask, "Are you getting this in your bones too??" And if there's no one next to me, you're bound to get a text when I'm hearing something new. I'm that kind of girl.
Which is why, as I lay here vowing to never eat again after a straight week of Thanksgiving nonsense eating (read: shame ordering Chinese in between eating turkey), I'm listening to every note of the Victoria Pipe Band in the 1992 world pipe band championships. I want to feel it.
It's either that or buy bigger pants.
At least music will make me cry in a good way.