Music .. Part I

     

   The sound of music was the world to me in my year in the US. Every song reminds me of a certain situation that I was in, a place I went to listening to that piece of music, or something I was doing. Science says that smell is the most provoking sense to memory, like when you smell a detergent that you have smelt before at a restaurant, you actually remember that restaurant almost photographically, you remember what you ate and what you felt and who was sitting next to you, even the music you listened to at that restaurant at that certain point of time. Which is absolutely true for me but we can get back to that in another post, in this one, how the sound provokes my memory will be more prominent. I had bought an iPod classic that Raphael, my host mom's son, got me a great deal on. It was this silver, thick awesome creation from our friends at Apple that I had loved and cherished so much, until it was stolen from me, and the hit came from a friend. May Allah forgive him for what he did. Anyway, the iPod really helped me to document many events that happened from the music I was listening to on it during those events. It's actually a really good idea, alternative to photography, to document events in your life using music.

    

     Right now I am listening to jazz, my favorite genre of music.  To myself, jazz is my friend, it is not just a bunch of tunes brought together to compose music. Jazz is actually a cool friend. Jazz walks down the street coolly, dances feverishly or runs unpredictably. Jazz is this friend that sits with you on a bench under an apple tree in autumn dressed as chique as and fabulous as a movie star with a hat, and a raincoat, and shiny shoes, in the cold on the bank of the Rhine river with orange lamps lighting the street so far away you can never see his face. In the dark, when you are alone and the world has gone to bed, he sits with you, chats with you and tells you about your most beautiful dreams, and helps you visualize and live those dreams. With Jazz, not a problem in the world, in your world, is worth it,and everything is beautiful. Jazz loves you, hugs, and kisses you. If jazz can be touched, it can be spherical zigzag, or spiral. If you can smell jazz, then it is the sweet aroma of old wooden chairs and bars and tables of a jazz club in Paris or New Orleans. Jazz's every intention is to make people happy. Jazz always reminded me of those nights, when Linda and Kris would go to sleep rather early and I would be in my room sitting on my bed doing nothing. My bed was elevated so that when I stood next to it, my head would barely reach its level. I used a ladder attached to the bed to climb up. Attached to the bed are two shelves on top of each other, green, was the color of the bed, ladder, and the shelves. The shelves were very important because that's where I put my books and my radio. My room was basically in the basement, that Linda and Kris fixed for me beautifully to have as my own separate , almost private, area in the house,   except for the laundry room. Other than that, I owned the basement, Linda and kris owned upstairs and everything else. I spent many nights sitting on the bed, and tired of my books and not having anything to do. There was no computer at home and TV had only like four channels. So I lit my hot yellow lamp and chilled on the bed, and turned on the radio. Of course I had no idea about the stations in my area. But the radio opened at night on jazz. More often, the whole room would be dark and I would be going to sleep.  Then the softest, most smooth sweet jazz plays. A consoling, comforting piece would play and I would just drift off in the river of beauty. The tunes spoke to me, and I always felt the musicians stayed up all night just to enchant me with the fabulous music. Then, I didn't care much that I was alone or that I didn't have much to do at the moment. I sat in the most exquisite cafe in Marseilles where I can see the famous port from the tainted windows. I walked on the cobblestone streets of Prague, saw the beautiful ladies dressed in dazzling gowns going to the opera hokkuse of Prague and watched the sunset over the skyline of old churches  and  houses built with clay stones, painted orange and red. In a very old New Orleans jazz club with the most gorgeous lady in the house listening to live Benny Golson or John Coltrane tunes contemplating the rich scent from the tables and chairs, and of course the woman sitting next to me. Her scent was heavenly indeed. I went to wherever I wanted to go when I listened to jazz.

       I also have the memory of Mouline, Illinois, when we , I and Linda and Kris, went to visit Linda's sister and her son Christopher. Those smooth jazzy Christmas tunes played in the car as we went to Kruger's to do some shopping. I shall tell you about the journey to Mouline later. 

       Amr Diab always played on my iPod Classic everyday on my way from Catholic to the little rock library.  Diab's music draws out the picture of Catholic High school from outside. The empty parking because all the students have left. The only students who were still inside the school, where either the awesome students who worked at Catholic to make some extra cash, which I always tremendously respected like Seth Grandbois, the short kind of blonde kid whom I remember very distinctively because he was the first kid to help me open my locker that was locked by this lock that resembled ones on safes. When I asked , because it was so difficult for me to open at first, why the heck they don't just give keys out, they told me because students would lose them all the time and bug the administration.  Or the few students that waited for their rides like myself. Sometimes I sat with them and we chatted, like tyler, the white chubby kid with freckles and curly black hair,and glasses. Dustin, the black kid who was with me on the fitness team. Sometimes I would sit outside with the boys on the benches right outside the Catholic main door. There were like 4 benches outside the door. To the right there was this trail that led to the separate chemistry building that I had been informed was built very recently, of course very recently meant a minimum of 7 to 8 years regarding that the school was built in 1930. The trail was surrounded on. Either side by big trees that usually made it shadowy. I remember that trail very well because I always used it to go from French class with Brother Richard to Chemistry class with Mr.Edge. It rained a lot in the summer in Arkansas so it was usually a bit damp, the trail, and you could always smell the scent of watered grass and the leaves of trees. And the leaves would drop water remaining from the rain unto the trail, or unto your head sometimes. When you open the door and go left there stands the great statue that depicts the diseased GodFather of Catholic High, Father Tribou, advising a student. And then more benches till you reach the faculty parking and the very tall cross in front of the school. Farther left is the parking and the back doors for music room and the school gym. The school overlooks Father Tribou street that leads to the mall where myself and many of friends hung out, especially at Starbucks before exams.
 
      Hisham Abbas, a pop singer from Egypt, sang" sebtek" or " I dumped you" in my IPod classic as I passed the Catholic high football field. I can't get the smell of the wet blades of grass out of my nostrils. Those football boys were working hard at it. The field was at a lower level than the ground, that it felt to me they put the field in this huge pit of grass and mud. I always envied those boys that participated in an athletic team at catholic high. I always felt they were so in shape and that they really work hard to be at the level they are at. What I clearly remember was how I was always wondering how those fat kids who practiced in the football team could run so fast, and be that agile and light...