Somewhere Over the Sun

Alright, so, I’m sitting in public and I’m mouthing the words to one of my favorite songs. And some woman looks at me and although her face doesn’t contort into any sort of reaction, I know some part of her finds me silly. Which is perfectly okay. Moving your mouth without saying anything is silly. Whether you see it as borderline-crazy-person silly or borderline-happy-person silly is up to you.

But, listen, woman with the Samsung laptop and no beverage, the song’s playing, my favorite part is coming up, and keeping my lips pressed together feels so much sillier to me. The words are there, just another repetition of the chorus away, right at the start of the next verse, and listen, I know the words perfectly, even if I can’t sing them as well as he can, or even if I don’t always get the timing right. But not mouthing them is like turning the volume all the way down until the song no longer exists. Not mouthing them is ridiculous, it’s not having dessert when it’s right there in front of you, not telling someone you love them when you love them, not jumping naked into an abandoned ocean when you really want to, just because you are afraid of the idea of its inherent silliness, blushing naked in the dark, silly beyond silly. Songs are meant to be sung by more than just the people who wrote them.

Someday, when I’m a little sillier, a little crazier or a little happier, I’ll sing them out loud too, with the full power of my unskilled vocal chords, always, not just in the shower or in my car or when I’m walking and there aren’t too many people around, but always, always, like the men in New York City who unabashedly talk to flowers.

It was bold and beautiful laying on her lap. Black wood she knew nothing of, strings she thought of only as fragile. It was strange to her that it could sing. An impulsive purchase, sure, but one she had no remorse over. A week earlier she had told herself, “I will accomplish something.” The guitar was a reaction to a simple sentence that flickered into her brain. She rarely set tangible goals for herself, and when the sentence flew around her head for an afternoon, she though it only one of her tiny moments of inconsequential inspiration. But this time she felt it was a command. Her static mind was pushing her to live just a little more. And when she saw the guitar, not quite glistening in the sun, yet surely bathing in sunlight, she knew it would be her accomplishment-to-be.

She wanted nothing as lofty as to become a rock star, or even a respectable musician. She doubted she’d even let many people hear her play. Instead, she aspired to familiarize herself with the instrument. She wanted to master it, whatever that meant. So, strumming it ever so slightly while laying in bed, she asked it all the typical questions potential lovers ask themselves on first dates. She explored the guitar with her fingers, fingers she had thought too delicate, too clumsy to ever be musical. But she would acquaint her hands with the guitar until its strings learned to love her fingers, and quiver at her touch. Affection strengthens over time, and the two lovebirds were destined to sing, she was sure of it.

Over the following months, she became so accustomed to feeling the guitar resting on her knee that sitting without it there felt odd, like a long-used ring which has been lost. Her lap felt naked when not clothed in six strings. The guitar held her hand so often that her fingers grew callused at the tips, its strings always hungry to feel her. The world became completely musical. Car accidents were power chords, and babies crying were bittersweet solos. Her speech became rhythmic, and she began harmonizing with those around her.

At night, she’d arrive home and call out to her sweetheart. First, just a strum across all six strings, nothing too musical, just an appreciation of what the guitar basically was. It was barely controllable anymore, the way her fingers caressed its neck. The guitar loved her plucking and strumming, her bending and tapping. She loved its moans of pleasure, and the pride of creating a beautiful sound. Their love making would last until the wee hours of the night, when she would slowly fall asleep playing a note every few minutes.

Alright, I promise I’ll give you guys a bit of book-related updates soon. News about the Kindle, Nook and iPad versions, as well as an upcoming review and interview over at Girls Just Reading.

There’s little doubt that people are more prone to loving songs rather than albums these days. Attention spans are limited and the shuffle option on MP3 players is valued like nothing else. So, in spite of, or maybe as a response to my posts on the best albums of the year, I present to you with the songs from 2010 that I loved. These are presented in no particular order.

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