Across My Own Universe

I just saw the new musical/movie “Across The Universe”.
Stunningly good – and that’s my completely biased opinion.

I’m not sure how to describe it. I’m not sure why or even how it affected me. I’m sure there must be deep psychological reasons and underlying issues and repressed memories and unfulfilled dreams churning inside of me that lots of therapy could wring out. In 1969 I started high school, my brother started college, the Vietnam War was raging, psychedelia and hippydom was trying to spread peace and love even if it meant fighting the police and National Guard, and music (specifically The Beatles) was sort of a lightning rod for channeling young people’s emotions.

I liked the musical “Hair” – the music, the story, the performers, the vibrant colors – but the characters did seem somewhat like exaggerated charactatures of common 60’s strereotypes. I’m sure that somewhere those exact characters existed, but I didn’t personally know any that were quite that extreme (in their own individual stereotypes) and it was certainly a stretch to think they all would have ended up associated together as they were in the plot. This story feels real, the characters are not larger-than-life. You do not feel like “here is the hippy, here is the tortured soul, here is the innocent sweetheart”, even thought they are all there. This would be a very good story without the music (or with different music). But here, the story line fits the music, or the music fits the story line – not only fits but is an essential part of the dialogue and the plot. It is heresy (to some Beatles fanatics) to imply that somebody could actually improve a Beatles song, but the interpretations of the songs so impressively fit the mood of each moment of the movie (no, not fit the mood – define the mood) that I was so glad that they didn’t just use the original Beatles songs, they recreated them powerfully. As stand alone songs they are beautiful, sweet, sad, joyous, and well loved friends forever. Used within a story, with characters who bring specific emotions out of them, with visual and physical content applied to them they can make you cry in pain or shake your soul or leap for joy or fall in love. AND you could insert yourself into the story as being any one of the characters and feel exactly what they were feeling on screen. But in the end, I’m not too interested in explaining the movie to you – although I will highly recommend you go see it (especially anyone between the ages of 50 – 60).

What I wish I could address is the way I respond to music (and I’m sure I will fail in trying). Most of you might want to simply stop here now, as the rest is destined to come off sounding like a vain attempt at being transcendental and pseudo-psychological and self-indulgent or just a load of crap. As much as I know I should not attempt to explain, I am much more stubborn than I am intelligent – so here goes.

There is something about certain music (not all music) that affects me deeply. Sure, lots of music can prompt lots people to tap their toes, bounce their heads, rise up and move or sing. It’s a common reaction and for some people, the primary function of music – simply entertainment. The right music can make my entire being hum. My insides react like a tuning fork that has encountered the exact matching frequency and responds by spontaneously vibrating. Susan was actually able to sense it as it was happening (she herself has an amazing ability to tune in to other peoples feelings) even though we were just sitting still – holding hands or with my arm over her shoulder. Harmonies and certain chord progressions (and usage of dischords) do that to me. It’s not a note, but the combined affects of specific notes- used simultaneously, or in sequence as the resonance or memory of the previous note is still audible. It literally moves my inner being like a microwave oven setting the molecules of frozen food into motion and generating tremendous heat. In particular, the songs “Dear Prudence” and “Because” nearly brought me to tears during the movie – and she could feel it through my arm. These are songs that most people easily pass over – would never show up on anybody’s list of “1000 greatest songs ever recorded” or even “top 20 Beatles songs”. But for me it’s as if I’m the earth, with a thick solid crust. Underneath is a mass of molten emotion, well contained (some may argue TOO well contained) and only able to occasionally vent through narrow, temporary outlets. But somehow, from somewhere, some harmonic vibration causes the lava to become excited and boil with greater intensity, building up pressure. This can cause the outer crust to feel excitedly alive and unusually flexible – bordering on ecstasy, but also bordering on pure serenity. It is complicated, and made more so as I feel as if I could easily go into a trance-like state if only I would allow it. What if I totally gave in and let it all flow out? (Is this where an accusation of being anal-retentive comes into play?)

There is an old story about a scientist who is working on the concept of the song that gets stuck in your mind and you can’t get it out. But of course you eventually do. So he studies and experiments and tries to construct “the perfect song” that you would happily NEVER get out of your head – and he succeeds and goes into a blissfully vegetative state for the rest of his life. His assistants are of course desperately tempted to know what the song sounds like but can see what their fate will be if they dare listen.

I have wondered what would happen if I assembled my perfect collection of songs (it would be HEAVILY dominated by Beatles) and put on my headphones. Maybe my controlling my insides from boiling too much is saving me from certain self-absorbed destruction, or maybe I’m preventing an incredible inner force from coming forth and redefining a totally transformed version of me. Like the scientists assistants dilemma, is it worth the risk? Why am I like this (not the long-winded story-telling problem (that’s a different issue), the inner musical vibration thing)? Do other people feel this way? About other things? HerMajesty about babies and puppies? Certainly some religious people feel this way about God? Maybe it’s like Timmy and his numbers in his head? Am I (are we) supposed to do something about it or simply live with it? But it’s not like I could turn it into a career or save peoples lives with it. It’s just my own personal universe.