The Trailhead: broken-mess, IGNITE and hope

I think a few of you know where I have been dwelling in the recent past, or at least a shadow of it. But Daddy God has put me in a place where I have to be transparent, completely open to anyone who wants to know. I am walking into a place of new beginnings, which means walking through a place of immense pain. Old scars are being ripped open, masks are being torn away, everything I know and cling to, God is striping of me. It hurts like pouring hydrogen peroxide in an infected wound. This is for everyone and anyone to read, go into this knowing that I enter a completely vulnerable position here, and I am afraid of what will come of this. *takes a deep breath*

There has been a lot of brokenness in my life, as short as it has been (I feel stupid saying that as a 14 year old...). Over the past year I have battled depression, misery, loneliness, cutting, suicidal thoughts, hiding, faking peace and authenticity. It mostly roots from feeling like a social outcast most of my conscious life. Ever since I was very little, I never seemed to fit in with the other children my age. I felt like a puzzle piece shoved into the wrong box. I have had very few genuine friends, especially up to last summer. I was always lonely. I hardly recognised it. Last year, when I met the people who genuinely loved me, who I genuinely loved, who were like me, who were the puzzle I belonged to I found that hole in my heart. I learned what it was like to fit in. I learned what it was like to have true friends. Due to the business of my first year in High school, I went for about three months without seeing anyone I had met. I had regular conversations on gmail chat, but there is nothing that fills the thirst for face time other than face time. Loneliness set in like a fog.

In that time I realised there is nothing I value higher than genuine relationship. There is nothing I posses that I would not gladly give away to help a friend. I love my friends. I love them deeply. Any length of time without them is painful. They mean so So very much to me. If you are reading this, that applies to you. I am a broken mess of emotion, reality and new found joy in authentic relationships.

IGNITE was a week-long winter retreat up in the Tennessee mountains. It was hosted by the Institute for Cultural Communicators, a speech and debate training organization I am very involved in. In that week, not only did I catch the inspiration to become an Authentic Communicator, and catch the blue tape craze, but I got a taste of what it was like to live in perfect community, genuine relationships, authentic love and complete transparency. It was a glimpse of what a life of complete in-tuneness with God would look like, because that is what it was. I cannot at all communicate how much of a blessing it was to be there. In that short week, I strengthened long-standing relationships and built several new ones. Every night there were happy/relieved tears shed. Every morning we were reminded of the love around us. There was so much renewal and healing. I dont now how to express that any more than what I have already expressed about my value for relationships. :big smile:

It was very hard to leave, it was world-shaking. An entire week charged with emotion and community... Coming home was miserable.

I came home to a week's worth of homework, a nasty head-cold, and solitude. Wednesday was miserable. The morning I was in classes and Mr. Phillips (my History and Bible teacher) asked the question "If God is good, and He loves His people, why does he allow pain and suffering?". Ouch. I didn't have an answer. It was a question that had bothered me for a long time. The day went downhill from there. Mom surprised me by bringing my dear friend and brother Timothy to come pick me up, which did a little to improve my mood... But it made me feel empty seeing him and my sister as if I didn't exist. After youth group, I was feeling so empty, so loney that I wrote this poem:

To be or not to be,
Is that the question?
Tonight it does seem key.
I seem to be drifting in hesitation,
Unwilling to be authentically me.
I long for an authentic relation.

Hiding in masks, hiding from who I am,
Because I am not strong enough
to be weak
My emotions are pent up as behind a dam.
All I wish to be is to be meek.
But I brace myself to be slammed,
Against a wall; one I don't need to seek.

No one seems to care to notice,
That I am a shell,
Of who I was, I wish I was missed.
Loneliness is my personal hell.
My energy drains with a silent hiss.
I have no one to tell.

'Hey, are you alright?'
Would that be too much to ask?
It's starting to look like it might.
I broke my promise not to resort to a mask,
But I gave up trying to put up a fight.
It was just too much of a task.

So here I am, drifting here.
Without an answer to my thoughts,
And none is near.
I search for an answer as I think I ought.
I dip into thoughts I cannot hear.
Now I've lost the battle, for I had not fought.

That was the culmination of all the waves of emotion that washed over me. It hurt. I did not, by any means want to talk to anyone Wednesday night. And I didn't. I talked to three people, and those were shallow conversations. I hid. I did not want to face the vacuum of emptiness that was suffocating me. I no longer had any emotion to give. When I got home, I kept in my avoidance patterns. I went directly out back without greeting Dad or Nicole. I just wanted to sit down and cry.

Sometimes I am tempted to think I am invisible. Sometimes I am tempted to think no one cares. Every time I do, I am hastily proven very wrong. This was one of those times.

Tim and I must have talked for hours. In the end I came to this:
Daddy God is calling me to break my heart, abandon all sorts of things I sought out for comfort like music, He is stripping me down to bare bone until all that remains is me, not who I want to be but who He made me to be. He is making me into His princess. And like Much Afraid from the book "Hind's Feet on High Places", I have had a thorn shaped flower seed placed in the very core of my heart. It cannot bloom if I do not move, and every time I move the thorn digs deeper and more painfully into my heart. It hurts, and it will keep hurting until I am at the place He wants for me. As a friend of mine says, the more you bleed, the cleaner the wound becomes. Daddy God is cleaning my wounds thoroughly.

That is where I am. Right now, I am just a pile of bones. Everything I knew is gone. Everything He has for me is yet to come. I don't think that which I knew will ever be fully restored. I am confident that what He has prepared for me is better. I can't say I go into this willingly. I don't have a choice anymore. I can say I I'm dreadfully afraid. I trust God to do what is best.

In the mean time I cannot think of anything I desire and crave more than your prayers.

With that, I love you very much :smiles and hugs:

Speech

Hey people! As I am preparing for a speech and debate tournament this Saturday ( =O *panics* ) I have finished my persuasive speech. Here it is. The hardest speech I have ever written. Its very vulnerable, read it with care and caution please. Its about 10 minutes long when I give it, or it ought to be. Im sharing it here because it gives another perspective to the musical side of me, and a bit of explanation of what I've been doing recently:

“Oh be careful little ears what you hear, oh be careful little ears what you hear. For our Father up above is looking down with love, oh be careful little words what you hear”

Lost in the depths of depression, a young girl once again found herself in tears. She went to her ipod to turn on some music, her favourite screamo bands, they were her escape. She sat there, alone, miserable about herself, once again considering taking her own life to ease the pain. She cut because it was tangible pain, something beyond an abstract emotion. She felt as if every breath she took was a waste of oxygen. There seemed to be no way out. She was fettered by her fear. She knew every note, every chord, every word of every song, they were her comfort. The songs she surrounded herself with were only the ones that resonated with her pain.

That girl was me. For over a year, I battled depression, cutting, and suicidal thoughts. Music is a powerful tool. It has the power to affect ones emotions, to bend them, merely by how the brain responds to the patterns, tones, and literal notes of the music, as well as the words. Today, I would like to look at the way music effects people, psychologically and emotionally, good and bad and what the Bible has to say about it, and with that persuade you to put a much higher consideration into the music you listen to.

I am a classically trained violinist. I have been studying music for nearly 8 years, studying music theory for just as long, and have been in Florida’s premier youth orchestra for 2. With that in mind, last summer, I decided to run a series of musical experiments, just for fun. I gathered many genres and listened to each individually for about a week with astounding results. The clearest examples of what I intend to communicate today are in the genres of soft rock, subculture punk rock and heavy metal, those being some fairly drastic extremes.

In the first few weeks of my experiment, I listened to bands with a soft rock, almost folkish feel to them. Emotionally I was content while absorbing this sort of music exclusively. I transposed the songs I liked best to find without great surprise a tendency toward major key tonality which has been shown to bring fourth generally happy emotions in people because of the way the brain responds to the harmonic major chords (according to an Oxford study in 2006). I determined for myself that these bands, and music like them that follow a basic structure and maintain a major key tonality make me happy, and when I am downcast, I ought to listen to this sort of music.

I moved next wordless string quartets. Why a quartet? No particular reason. I just like the sound of the quartet above that of a soloist. I broke this week into three parts. I focused on Classical quartets in the first third of the week, bringing about a creative, gentle, musical mood in me. The next two days were entirely the Stylized Folk quartets for their swingy, homely feel. I had to dance to them. Again, not happy music, but this music causes me to be happy for it resonates with my soul. It is my very favourite go-to music. The third portion of the week was the Electric, nearly Metal. It was punkish. It made me feel slightly angsty, moody, temperamental. I hate how much I loved it. It was in a major key for the most part, but with many accidentals, which has been shown in the same Oxford study to have a quietly unsettling affect of the brain and emotions.

After that, I went to punk rock. I quickly realized that these bands, from their lyrics to their notes encourages a rebellious attitude in me. In this case however, it was the lyrics just as much if not more than the notes. As much as I like those bands for face value, I decided I should keep myself at listening to only a very little bit at a time to prevent a rebellious attitude from overtaking me.

I broke my trip to the genre of metal into three weeks. Christian metal, heavy metal and screamo.

The first week I listened to bands known for being ‘christian family friendly’. I really, really liked the lyrics. The music itself clashed to some extent to the lyrics. The music, once transposed turned out to follow the same patterns as the punk rock, and on its own brought about similar results. But with the lyrics, it kinda evened out to confusion in the mind of a musician and angst to the mind of a teenager.

The next week I spent listening to bands with a heavier sound and less friendly lyrics. These songs were primarily in a minor key, which has been shown by various studies, to be slightly depressing, morose and harmful to ones emotions and mind. I realized this shortly after I started listening to it. I slowly became addicted to this sort of music, and also grew depressed. Slowly, I found my joy disappearing and my hope fading, apparently without great cause. Only now that I have researched, do I realize it was the literal notes, and harmonies that caused me to be so morose and lifeless. I saw a significantly stronger effect to the like in the next week.

I had a screamo duration aswell. I listened to bands like Eyes Set to Kill, and Slipknot, all classified as ‘Death Metal’. The lyrics in these songs were not only depressing in writing, many were disturbing. I listened to it for like a month. In that time I was going trough a few very emotionally painful trails, with friends and within my family. Between the outside circumstances and the music that was poisoning my spirit, I slowly became reclusive, depresses, lonely, and lifeless. I was distantly aware that this was not good for me, but I persisted, addicted to the music. After only a month, I was cutting and even had suicidal thoughts. I could see no escape, I didn’t really want one either. Thankfully, I had a friend who saw this and told me it was terrible for me, and implored me to lean on God for my hurts, change my music to something uplifting. He knew I was a musician, and knew the effects of music, and the experiment. He pulled me away from my music and habits and pushed me back to God.The notes themselves had depressing tendencies. The notes were having a negative affect on the brain. It is not healthy. Why should the music as a whole be any better? Should this not be a red flag?

A 2008 study preformed by a private psychologist by the name of Jennifer Copley, did a similar study as I did, but to a more controlled degree. She came to the conclusion that certain Key Signatures triggered emotions. An obvious example is found in the musical scores of movies. The composers intentionally use the music to create a desired emotion to enhance the ‘movie experience.’ These composers know the effect of the music and manipulate it accordingly.

Ok, so now we know that some music is good for you, and some music is bad for you. Now how do you determine that without having years of music training? After taking a survey presented by Christian speaker and writer Nancy Leigh DeMoss, one girl was quoted to say, “I don’t really pay attention to the words of music. Once I really start looking at it, and start thinking about what they are saying, I realize that it is not what I want to be listening to. But it’s too late. Its already in my head.” (MeMoss, and Gresh 152) Music sometimes seems the lost innocent of these examples. Many girls and guys alike who took the survey said they “don’t really listen to the music, that the words don’t really matter” like an IV, you may not notice the affects all at once, but they grow clearer and clearer down the road. By the time its apparent that its effects are harmful, its often too late. For me, I was blessed to have a friend who loved me enough to be unable to watch my self-destruction.

Controversial rapper Eminem would not let his young daughters hear any of his music; instead, he remade all of it to be suitable for their ears. He was quoted to say, “I don’t want my daughters exposed to the violence, sex obsession and cussing in my songs.” If he knows what he is writing and will not let his own daughters hear it, should not that be a warning flag to you as well?

Philippians 4:8 says, “What so ever is true, what so ever is honourable, hat so ever is just, what so ever is just, what so ever is pure, what so ever is lovely, what so ever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things,” This verse as as standard, does your music match up? Is it honourable? Is it just? Is it pure? Is it lovely? Is it commendable? Is there excellence? Is it worthy of praise? Does it make you want to glorify God? Does it harm these standards to surround yourself with the media you do? Would you be embarrassed to share it with your parents? Does it create conflict between you and your parents? Is it something you try to hide from others? Does it cause you to seek isolation? Does it cause you to neglect responsibilities? Does it take away from your time with God? Are you unable to go without it for a length of time?

I found these questions all very challenging when I first came across them in Gresh’s book. I found that quite a lot of the music I had become addicted to was dishonouring to myself, and to God. I have since set up for myself strict filters for my music, to the extent that make habit of looking up the lyrics of a song and examining the chord patterns of each song before I put it on my ipod.

I would like to challenge you to take closer inspection at your music. I want you to determine what it does to your emotions. I want you to determine if its good for you. I want you to put your music through the filters I have suggested today. If you struggle with music you think i might be bad for your heart and relationships, I would dare to to ask you to find an accountability partner, someone will tell you when you are out of line with your music, when they think your music is harmful. I encourage you to to remember Philippians 4:8, to surround yourself with pure, true, honourable, just, excellent, commendable, praiseworthy music.

“Oh be careful little ears what you hear, oh be careful little ears what you hear. For our Father up above is looking down with love, oh be careful little words what you hear”

Its a love story, baby just say yes...

Once apon a time...

It seems all girls, at some point, somewhere in their life, crave a fairy-tale ending. It seems to me that all girls want a Prince Charming, who they've dreamed up in their head, who they have dreamed about, who they have even given a name. Little girls, want Prince Charming to come and do a heroic act, generally including saving her, the little dreamer, and ending in a romantic, perfect ending with two kids, a boy and a girl, Samantha (who would go by Sam) and James, living in a mansion somewhere in Europe, where Prince Charming and the little girl are so grossly rich that they never have to work a day in their married lives. Little girls will play this sort of imaginary game with their friends. Odds are it will happen something like this:

Delaney(7), Hannah(8) and Nicole(5) are playing in the backyard. Hannah is passive, so she lets the younger girls decide the game. Delaney, being the elder of the two decides and tells NIcole, the youngest, that she will love it. Delaney called her game a "Lovey-Dovey" game. Delaney describes her plot line rather along these lines

Delaney: In the beginning, there is a really pretty girl, she has long red hair, green eyes and is a fashion designer in New York. Soon, a Prince from a far off land comes to New York, disguised as a peasant, to ask for a suit from the fashion store the pretty girl works at. At first they hate each-other, then because the Prince has to rescue the pretty girl and they get married, have two kids, named Samantha and James, (Sam would go by Sam because she was a tomboy) and they would life in a palace in London where the Prince would be so rich that they lived happily ever after. Wanna play it?

Nico: Sure! I wanna be a puppy.

Hannah: Am I the girl or the boy?

If you haven't guessed, Delaney was the neighbor girl who lived across the street. All of our games were some-sort of variation of this plot (whether we were animals, people, dragons, Pokemon or WHATEVER...) Soon after the first few "Lovey-Dovey' games, I began adding to the plot, twisting it a little, having a guy the Pretty Girl was already interested in, who happened to always be a conceited jerk, and Prince Charming was forbidden to marry her, or some other variation.

The point of the story being, I was a little girl. I played the same plot-lines over, and over, and over... I imagined a perfect boy who would sweep me off my feet, who would be just above my height, not spectacularly tall, no shorter than me, blue-grey eyes, charming, godly, gentlemanly, strong, handsome, light brown or dirty blond hair, adventurous, gentle, smart, musical... the list of adjectives went on... I found a few guys who fit my list, which I think was probably bad for me.

As long as I have been imagining romantic endings to anything I have been writing stories, where handsome, winsome boy meets plain, sweet, unassuming girl, boy pursues girl, girl falls hopelessly in love with boy, boy cherishes girl, girl sacrifices gets hurt (or captured by villains, locked in a castle, lost in a forest, kidnapped by another boy who loves her too, etc), boy has to risk himself to save girl and after girl recovers they get married, have two children, Samantha (who goes by Sam) and James, they go off and life in a lovely, extravagant, stone house in Ireland, on a plateau overlooking the ocean where they had horses and went riding everyday.

I only have one question: WHY?!? Why does that seem perfect? Its illogical! Its improbable, nothing in life happens the way the fairy tales do. What seems right about them? They're disappointing. Unfilling. Fairytales only make me more aware of the empty spot in my heart that will be filled by my husband.

Thats the answer. The answer is that there is a spot in every girl's heart that craves affection. That craves affection and approval and acceptance from the male race. Girls, from the moment they first become aware of it want to fill that empty spot in their heart. For me it was creating love stories, over and over, reading them, playing them, writing them. In recent years, I have hidden this part of myself. I did not want to acknowledge that part of my hear that I couldn't fill. Most of my girl friends doubt I feel this way. I have played the game of not caring so well, that they dont know that I was the little girl who wanted to meet Prince Charming, fall in love, have him pursue me, have him fight for me, get married, have two kids, Gwennivire Andromeda and Cecil James, live in a quiet, simple house in the mountains in Colorado, work in ministry and writing, and live happily ever after.

"Sweet is life when all is sane. Sweet is death to rid the pain. Sweet is love when all is well. Cruel is love when all is hell." -Anonymous

Mistake me not, desiring pure love, like I daydreamed of is not all bad. Its perfectly fine. But odds are, it will disappoint. Real life is not like my fairy tales. It will never be. It wasn't meant to be. I am not a princess, Price Charming is not waiting to sweep me off my feet. Thats reality. I will have to work, pay bills, cook, clean, buy groceries, do laundry and interact with people I dont want to. I will do it with a content heart. I will have a content heart only by the grace of my Daddy in Heaven who has written for me a better fairy tale then I could ever dream up. Thats the true story. I will never stop dreaming up love stories, I dont think I want to. But my love story is already written, and I am not the author, or the editor, or the publisher, I am a background character, who happens to have a perfect ending. No, not perfect in that it is the way I planned it, but in the way that the All Knowing God planned it.

I am not in a game. I am no Juliet, rather Rapunzel waiting protected for my Prince, who my Daddy has already picked out for me. He may have to yank on my hair a little, and its a battle, but its worth fighting.

The End.

Camping

If you find yourself trapped in the middle of the woods without electricity, running water, or a car you would likely describe that situation as a “nightmare” or “a worse case scenario like after plane crash or something.” many people refer to it as “camping.”

When people begin talking to you about camping they will do their best to tell you that it’s very easy and it allows them to escape the pressures and troubles of the urban lifestyle for a more natural, simplified, relaxing time and it's fun. Ha! Lies I tell you! Lies! Nothing could be further from the truth!

In theory camping should be a very inexpensive activity since you are literally sleeping on the ground. But as with everything in American culture, the more simple it appears the more expensive it actually is.

Camping is a multi-day, multi-step, potentially lethal activity that will cost you a large amount of both time and money. Unless you are in some sort of position where you absolutely need the friendship of a person who enjoys camping (petty thieves, hobos, business men who like to look like they have time and money to go enjoy the out doors, families with 5 or more children, boyscouts), you should avoid camping at all costs.

The first stage of camping always involves a trip to an outdoor equipment store like REI, Bass Pro Shop, or Outdoor World. These stores are well known for their abundance of such customers and their extensive inventory of things for white people to buy and only use once. If you are ever tricked into going to one of these stores, you can make those people who like camping (aka 'campers') like you by saying things like “man, this Kayak is only $1200, if I use it 35 times I’ve already saved money over renting.” Note: do not actually buy the kayak.

Next, campers will then take this new equipment and load it into an SUV or another multi-person vehicle with a Thule or Yakima Roof Rack. Then they will drive for an extended period of time to a national park or campsite where they will pay an entrance fee and begin their journey. It is worth noting that white people are unaware of the irony of using a gas burning car to bring them closer to nature and it is not recommended that you point this out. It will ruin their weekend.

Once in the camp area, campers will walk around for a while, set up a tent, have a horrible night of sleep, complain loudly, walk around some more. Then get in the car and go home. This, of course, is a best case scenario. Worst case scenarios include: getting lost, poisoned, killed by an animal, and encountering an RV. Of these outcomes, the latter is seen by true campers as the worst since it involves an encounter with the wrong kind of campers.

Conversely, any camping trip that ends in maiming death at the hands of nature or requires the use of valuable government resources for a rescue is seen as relatively positive in white culture. This is because both situations might eventually lead to a book deal or documentary film about the experience. (or atleast a very redundant, over told story that ought to be avoided at all costs)

Ultimately the best way to escape a camping trip with such people is to say that you have allergies. Since those who can afford to make time for camping and their children are allergic to almost everything, they will understand and ask no further questions.



:takes a bow:


(note á bene: My dear Boyscout Brothers (Ben, Willie, Chan-Chan, Josh, Timothy, to whomever else who found contempt at this) , I love camping. Really. I promise. This is merely the out-put of a rare funny moment...)

Location:Written from my iPod, in bed, in a heated house, with a bathroom just next door to my room with food cooking on the stove... You get the picture.

Camping

If you find yourself trapped in the middle of the woods without electricity, running water, or a car you would likely describe that situation as a “nightmare” or “a worse case scenario like after plane crash or something.” many people refer to it as “camping.”

When people begin talking to you about camping they will do their best to tell you that it’s very easy and it allows them to escape the pressures and troubles of the urban lifestyle for a more natural, simplified, relaxing time and it's fun. Ha! Lies I tell you! Lies! Nothing could be further from the truth!

In theory camping should be a very inexpensive activity since you are literally sleeping on the ground. But as with everything in American culture, the more simple it appears the more expensive it actually is. (less is more.. expensive)

Camping is a multi-day, multi-step, potentially lethal activity that will cost you a large amount of both time and money. Unless you are in some sort of position where you absolutely need the friendship of a person who enjoys camping (petty thieves, hobos, business men who like to look like they have time and money to go enjoy the out doors, families with 5 or more children, boyscouts), you should avoid camping at all costs.

The first stage of camping always involves a trip to an outdoor equipment store like REI, Bass Pro Shop, or Outdoor World. These stores are well known for their abundance of such customers and their extensive inventory of things for white people to buy and only use once. If you are ever tricked into going to one of these stores, you can make those people who like camping (aka 'campers') like you by saying things like “man, this Kayak is only $1200, if I use it 35 times I’ve already saved money over renting.” Note: do not actually buy the kayak.

Next, campers will then take this new equipment and load it into an SUV or another multi-person vehicle with a Thule or Yakima Roof Rack. Then they will drive for an extended period of time to a national park or campsite where they will pay an entrance fee and begin their journey. It is worth noting that white people are unaware of the irony of using a gas burning car to bring them closer to nature and it is not recommended that you point this out. It will ruin their weekend.

Once in the camp area, campers will walk around for a while, set up a tent, have a horrible night of sleep, complain loudly, walk around some more. Then get in the car and go home. This, of course, is a best case scenario. Worst case scenarios include: getting lost, poisoned, killed by an animal, and encountering an RV. Of these outcomes, the latter is seen by true campers as the worst since it involves an encounter with the wrong kind of campers.

Conversely, any camping trip that ends in maiming death at the hands of nature or requires the use of valuable government resources for a rescue is seen as relatively positive in this culture. This is because both situations might eventually lead to a book deal or documentary film about the experience. (or atleast a very redundant, over told story that ought to be avoided at all costs)

Ultimately the best way to escape a camping trip with such people is to say that you have allergies. Since those who can afford to make time for camping and their children are allergic to almost everything, they will understand and ask no further questions.



:takes a bow:


(note á bene: My dear Boyscout Brothers (Ben, Willie, Chan-Chan, Josh, Timothy, to whomever else who found contempt at this) , I love camping. Really. I promise. This is merely the out-put of a rare funny moment...)

Location:Written from my iPod, in bed, in a heated house, with a bathroom just next door to my room with food cooking on the stove... You get the picture.

Psychology of Music

Goodness, it has been a long time since I have last blogged.
[Me:"I've been too exhausted and busy to attend to you, surely you can handle that for a few days, or rather months!" My blog: "Excuses, excuses. I feel so very hurt that you neglect me as you do. I shall have to make you do something about that." Me: "Is that a threat?" My blog: "Yes, now get to work!" ::battle of wills takes place, girlish slap fights, name calling and nasty looks procede:: Me: "All right! Alright already!"] Dear world, I *cough* humbly apologise for my cruel abuse of my 'precious, abused, neglected, and orphaned' blog :: tones dripping with sarcasm, glares at the strong willed blog::

My blog has been.. rather abused as of late, but I have very little to talk about. So I'll go back to a familiar topic: Music and Poetry. [::sticks tongue at blog:: nana nana booboo! ::feels childish, and obviously doesn't care::]

I have been listening to a wide spread of music as of late. A variety of alternative punk, country, swing, classic Disney tunes and metal and emo core. No, that wouldn't be because my mood has been swinging like a pendulum, but rather there's nothing that could change it. And sheer curiousity. Ive been a bit blue lately... but that's not what this blog post is about. Its about the psychology of music

Lets start with music.

I find that depending on the key signature, and the literal notes of a song, it can sway ones emotions, as assisted by a pre-existing mood, to an extent.
I have experimented (read: rationalised) listening to drastically emotional songs to see how I subconsciously react. I worked this for about the past 4 or 5 months.

I spent a week listening exclusively to Owl City and Sailship and was entirely bubbly and cheerful without trying. I couldn't help it! Not only are the words happy, but the music is in a major chord with few to no accidentals. Its light-hearted. Its cheerful It is happy music.

Next I moved on to Alternative/soft rock such as Fleet Foxes, the Avett Brothers, The Goo Goo Dolls , Coldplay, Lady Antebellum and Jon Foreman. I felt, on most days rather passive, slightly morose and apathetic, but not entirely sad, and that was possibly caused by the memories tied to those particular songs. I looked at my own transpositions of a few of the songs and noted that they were mostly in minor keys, with few accidentals, not inherently sad music (read: notes in and of themselves) but with mellow tenancies. It was the lyrics I supposed that caused my subtle mellowness. Curiously, I felt slightly weak in strength after the first five days. That puzzles me.

I moved next wordless string quartets. Primarily The Section Quartet, The Sisters of the Road, Apocolyptica, Haggard, Escala, Mike Marshal and The Vitamin String Quartet. Why a quartet? No particular reason. I just like the sound of the quartet above that of a soloist. Hehe ^.^. Note that the two I listed first, and listened to most are electric, rather punkish (Ok, sorry, I didn't expect you to know that right off the bat...). I broke this week into three parts. Haggard, Escala, and the Vitamin String Quartet in the first third of the week, bringing about a creative, gentle, musical mood in me. The next two days were entirely the Sisters of the Road and Mike Marshal for their swingy, folk feel. I had to dance to them. Again, not happy music, but this music causes me to be happy for it resonates with my soul. It is my very favourite go-to music. (Much like EK and bagpipes, Ceeweera and the Beatles, or, um, or... ok. skip that. ) The third portion of the week was the Section Quartet and Apocolyptica. It was punkish as I already stated. It made me feel slightly angsty, moody, temperamental. I hate how much I loved it.

Ill go with three more examples of music I played with.

I had a metal/screamo week too. I listened to bands like Underoath, Plea for Purging, Bullet for my Valentine, Eyes Set to Kill, Alesana and whatever else Pandora gave me. I had nightmares. No joke. I like that kind of music when i am angry at myself, or when I am exercising. I have learned that I shall never, or ought to never listen to it on a mere whim. End of story.

Then I had an Irish Punk week that lasted much more than a week. Flogging Molly, The Dubliners, The Chieftains and Gaelic Storm were my constant flow. Yep! I found myself full of energy, restless, pumped and wanting to fight for something. The words and instruments were more the cause of this example. When I transposed them to violin I did not get the same effect. I shall be playing more!

Finally I went to bands such as Bright Eyes, Eisley, Augustana, Avett Brothers (again... I REALLY like them), Iron and Wine, Regina Spektor, Between the Trees, Taylor Swift, Lady Antebellum Secondhand Serenade. This was rather confusing to me. I loved the music, the words and everything, though I could not identify a consistent emotion even after inspecting the chord patterns. I do not identify a negative effect so I shall listen to these primarily =).

These are only a few of the 'sets/systems' that I sampled. But these were the most prominent reactions that I saw and recorded.

I can now say I have observed an unobvious trend in myself, made it more apparent and blogged about it. Mission Accomplished? I think so!

Be braced for musical nerdiness

Last night I went to Inception with my dear brother Tim Pierce and my mum. I enjoyed the movie very much and we discussed it quite extensively after. One thing we neglected to discuss, though we would not have had time to do so as completely, was the music. I might be the only one who noticed... I certainly was not awake enough at the time to clearly verbalise much of anything much anyhoo.

I, being a musician, was intrigued by the key the scores were in. For some time now I've been doing what you could call an independent study on the musical theory and style on music used particularly in movies, and the effectiveness of the music in movies (and in general) for manipulating emotions. I have found this quite fascinating. Inception however threw a curve ball at me. Most of the music was a major key (non musically theoretical translation- happy (read not scary or depressing) or exciting music) especially in the scenes with the most intense action. This surprised me. More frequently, the music in intense scenes is a minor key (nmtt- eerie, scary, sad or tense music) with few or no accidentals (nmtt- notes that don't fit the key). But in Inception, in the most mind bending, contemplative moments was C minor chuck full of accidentals, which perplexed me because it would have made more sense to write it in E major.

Throughout the movie, there was a wonderful sense of symbolism. Musically, I wondered if the accidentals, breaking of rules of musical key signature, had anything to do with the characters breaking the rules of reality. You'd have to see the movie to understand.

I'd love to dialogue with any of you about this :) or any of the movie for that matter.