Mood:
lyricalTopic: "Mooosic" (5)
Frodo thinks a lot about music, and how much it means to the world around him. Although he would never be caught dead walking around with some sort of personal music machine, he does have his places and his times where music fills the air. Driving in his motorcar, when a Scott Shannon broadcast has faded from clarity, provides him with an opportunity to catch up on CD's composed by friends and artists alike.
Sam's dear friend Allen, a taxidriver in Edinborough, whose dream is to someday sing with Kenny Rogers, sends compilations of concerts recorded in castles strong. Somehow, Frodo never thought about the Scots-Irish heritage in reverse, and how much it seems to move those tough guys whose ancestors had no love for anything like a British Invasion.
Patsy and Joe were friends at the College of the Shire whose entire romance flourished as they danced to the music, and now they compile an annual masterpiece which is valued throughout the known world. For more than twenty-five years they send precious friends a CD with songs not presented to the general public within the scope of aging memory. Every tune is as fresh as if it were dripping from the lips of Otis, and his band, who made John Belushi scream "Toga, Toga."
There are, of course, theme productions, and single artist compilations, usually purchased at deep discount, which rarely age well. It matters not to Frodo, for even Buck Owens can stir a TV memory with friends, playing karaoke and drinking beer, at the top of their lungs, before jungles and yellow men took them away, forever. Disco music can be dangerous while driving, but the aging John Travolta sparks great amusement from those who peer in the window labeled "Obama-Biden" and see the white boy grin back.
If Frodo were a Congressperson, planning to spend the next several days speaking to his constituents about Health Care Reform, he thinks he would bring a sound system with him. It is an adage that music soothes the savage beast; even, he imagines, cows and turkeys.
