Music, as I see it, is a phenomena culminating in popularity during periods of time when found accessible to the least privileged societal caste in any group or culture, dependent on the general normalities established by each passing attraction of new or old tradition. I have never found myself bound to such grievances as being some fixture to be found identical to another. I care little for the traditions of the increasingly malleable populace of the world I inhabit, never quite understanding the temptation of things new for the sake of popularity. Hence my music choices.

I prefer melodies where their very existence is an echo of tangible instruments and their ensorceling movement in emotion that involves complex structures. Music that can form windows into the histories of the cultures influencing its creator. Music that once was heard by those of ages past, and music of forgotten morals, the ballads, the concertos, songs from and about the mortality of man and the sorrows that come with it. Songs that embody the heart of character, charity, and courage. Folk music from now olden countries and forgotten wars.

I listen quite often to the tunes of my heart, reflecting the strength I lack in the rhythms I listen to. The country music my grandparents once new, the ones that were written in war and in pain, the songs filled with longing, sung in a gentle sort of way. And yet, I too receive my fill of music, and in the moment I have had enough, away it goes. And yet, when the time is right, and the music is swaying and not a person nearby to view me, I might even dance to it.