Without wanting to be too kooky or fried bananas, I watched a film before (okay, I'll admit it, it was the most recent Will Smith star-vehicle - we all need to switch off sometimes, can't be too serious every single minute; let's hope that this performance wins him his Oscar, I understood those scenes when he was riding his bike, it reminded me of a classic song by Fugazi), anyway, this film had a character with my name in it, the 'hippest child' character has my son's name (with some spelling modifications for both) and a link to my late mother ...
The film's message was strong and honest: how can we make sense of life after the event, in the debris of grief that remains with us, those who are still alive. Sometimes it can feel like this trace-memory is too difficult to bear, as we seek out repetition in our desire to make sense of that electrical current that burns inside. And yet this knowledge also offers us the potential to feel, along with others, and this can give us power. Not always, but it can sometimes.
Before the film, sitting outside near Les Halles in today's brilliant sunshine, I was listening to the radio and this came on, surely the most (fill in adjective) 60s pop-song 'of all time' ... How sublimely perfect is this?
On every level: the exhale that becomes part of the beat, echoed in this more recent song ... the backing-vocals and the lyrics that remain mysterious and gently humorous, the drumming itself and that keyboard solo towards the end: it's sweetness on a stick. When I heard this song, I did a little dance in my plastic seat and felt something close to true happiness.
Coda: When reading about Stevie Wonder over the weekend, I came across this comment in a review about 'I love every little thing about you' (also from Music of my mind) that I couldn't include in the piece, but it fits here perhaps;
Interesting this idea of using the body as an instrument, I think.