I at all do not claim that I roll over and invariably clean, and certainly not, when it comes to my taste in music. Resulting in part not only to complete confusion of myself, but also my fellow men is namely predominantly emotionsgesteuert. Alone the list of my favorite tracks is difficult to comprehend, because da Sun Starr joins RA on Brian Eno on Avey tare on Dillinger at baths on TLC on hole at speed. A turbulent teen years meant that I’m still trapped in a Tauzieh state between riot grrrl and hip hop between experimental jazz and “awesome tapes from Africa“ – findings, between trash-pop and trap.
Ago, when I stumble on favorite songs from the past, I must me everything then and wonder when but difficult. Last week I heard “what’s Love Got to do with it“ proposed 73 time (originally by Tina Turner). That makes me wonder firstly, and secondly because even at the 74th time still not the stomach turns around me because me the whole thing again shows that the music we hear, is quite often not only life bound, but also people bound. Sense technically. I won’t tell you who I must think of the song, here of course. More interesting, however, is why. I think this person has never been in the presence of my “Warren G“ mentioned or even alluded to. We produce us then and when so obviously our own stories to the respective track. And maybe the constant up and down listen is nothing more than the conjuring of the reality outside of music as an act of hope and despair, because we secretly wish that eventually real moments become mortgaged.