“Oh, turn that music up. That is my JAM!”

I’ve heard this phrase uttered on countless TV shows, movies, when I’m out with friends at bars, and just the other day, I found myself laughingly uttering these words when my newest(ish) favorite song came on.

Which got me to thinking, isn’t saying ‘this is my jam’ just another way of saying “This is my theme song!”? Because the song that I turned up and found myself singing at the top of my lungs was indeed my theme song as of late.

I’ve mentioned this song before, Some Nights by Fun. has been my theme song, my anthem if you will, for a little over a year now. The song starts with this great downbeat of singing. Powerful, catch your attention immediately sort of power.

“Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck

Some nights I call it a draw

Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle

Some nights I wish they’d just fall off”

Good lord, I love the poetry of song writers. I think I’ve talked about this before. I may have a romantic soul, but I don’t dare imagine I have a poetic one. That is a special sort of artist.

So, I love this group, they remind me of a time when CBGB was the greatest venue in New York. When punk was king. When the human struggle was in and of itself an art form. It’s catchy, moves my spirit and hell, it has a good beat.

I am reminded of my youth, of my art when I hear my anthem of late. Over the holidays, when I was writing the beginning of a new book, I put the song on repeat as I disappeared into the new orld I was creating.

When I was younger, when I was writing in secret, I would be home alone on Friday or Saturday nights, my parents gone (which raises another question of where were they? And why did it feel like I was home alone writing so often? Where the hell were my brother and sister? Hmmm. I’ll have to research those questions.) Anyway, I would put on some of my favorite music or my dad’s albums and I would sit in the living room writing my stories as long as I could. My youthful handwriting that I always thought was lacking would crowd together on page after page of line paper as I dreamt of different worlds, different lives, different situations other than my own. And yet, those very moments, with the music bouncing off the walls of my childhood home, the safety I felt in that house, the inspiration that replaced the blood coursing through my veins…that was the greatest world I could have ever imagined.

I’ve found myself back in that world once more. When there is silence around me, I put on my anthem, I hit the repeat button, and I get lost in the new words that fill the page. The same franticness of the words, and the world opening itself up in my mind’s eye whisking me away until I am jarred out of that world and the ghosts of my creative mind fall to the floor in ashes. The only thing left, a volume button to crank up, because the resounding music that keeps me company, that’s my jam.

Leave a Reply