Kenn used to work at The Exclusive Company. Kenn has one of the largest music collections I have ever been privy to. On certain days at the mailhouse I worked at, Kenn would arrive and pull a CD out of his knapsack.
“This my friend, you will love,” he would declare confidently.
I would look at the unfamiliar label, turn it over in my hands and then wait the rest of the day to run up to my dorm room and begin my sonic exploration. Some days I would jump into it. Other days it would take some time. And with a number of albums, nothing would happen.
Those CDs would go on my shelf and accumulate over time. On occasional early Sundays, I would pull one of them out. It may have been Beulah or Cedell Davis or the third album of Marah. I would listen to one or two songs and try to find an access point, never quite making it.
But then one day, I would turn around and put that fourth Beulah album in for some reason. And it may have been the weather that day or where I was driving or the break-up I just went through and that music hit a line drive straight into my cerebellum and embedded itself right beside everything I’d ever loved.
And we’d have a lovely time. Where I’d thought that Cedell Davis was a out of tune, jangly, blues freaker, he suddenly became the bearer of truth. Just by marinating in the music box until I was ready.
In most cases, I realized that Kenn was always right. I just needed to find the right time.
I don’t really do that anymore. Take an album and let it hang on the line. I sample songs, pick and choose off of the merry-go-round of music blogs and if it doesn’t grab me, I don’t take it.
It’s on days like these that I miss my trusted musical advisor.
(On that note, I’m listening to the latest album from Forest Fire. And if at first you can’t access, put it on hold. Wait a while and let’s see how it feels on a lazy Saturday morning while writing a crappy, nostalgia-laden blog post.)