It’s only a matter of time before we enter the ethereal.
Great art is both visceral and intellectual; tearing at the lines we use to define ourselves and pooling our entrails into a void of unspeakable certainty.
Music, as one of the oldest art forms, has this unique tie to the primordial. It crosses hemispheres in the brain and combines our need for order with our thirst for chaos. And its reach is impressive.
Think of an African drum beat, and tell me your hips don’t move just a little bit. The power of your favorite angsty punk song to bring back the anger you felt at not belonging (yet kinda not wanting to). That slightly off-key emo voice and how it tugs at the pangs of early unrequited love.
If music doesn’t take you somewhere, is it really music?
The emotional salmon that I am, swimming upstream against a current of uncertainty and expectation, dreamy music lightens the load and adds some helium to the lungs; making it juuust a little bit easier to get to those calm waters up ahead.
Enter Tim and Vancouver Sleep Clinic.
(Song recommendation by Jon Johnson)