Music on the Mind

This summer, I'm following a dream, rubbing elbows with musicians who inspire me and learning more about the music industry than I ever knew. I'm working for a record company, Aware Records, here in Chicago. Though I could do many of the tasks I'm doing it in an environment that is making me very happy. I'm not working 100-hour weeks, I'm not wearing an uncomfortable suit, and I'm not working for people I detest. I could, in fact, work that way if I so needed, but I don't think I--or anyone--needs that.

What was it that made me start thinking this way? A birthday. Actually, it was a birthday present, or at least it started that way. Since, it has helped shape me. Hard to believe that it's now been 8 years since I asked my parents to buy me a CD player. Five years later, it traveled to college with me, and if I think about it, that little bit of Japanese electronics and plastic probably fundamentally altered who I am and the trajectory upon which I traveled. It might seem odd to make such a claim, but please humor me for a moment--I'll try not to disappoint you.

I was just done with seventh grade, and had returned to my birthplace of New York City after a year's life in Texas. I visited a friend, and he showed me his CD player. It was a gray, futuristic affair that inspired awe (I still grin when I look at similar setups). But I just wanted the CD player because I'd seen and used one, and I thought it was cooler than a tape player. I mean, really, any given CD looked more artistic than a cassette. It had paint already on it. The cover was art, sure, but when you opened the case, you found another work of beauty, either swirling and complex or elegantly simple, a new aesthetic by which to judge new albums. What's more, I could tell that tapes were passe. I wanted to be with the times, and I wanted to hear the future.

I bought my first CDs before I even owned the player. The first was U2's "Rattle and Hum," and that one CD remains a favorite. Somehow, the live performances and the sheer majestic beauty of some of the band's finest studio moments still speak to me. I remember the era well, and remember being seized by "With or Without You," a song that was still playing often on the radio when that prized album was released.

I wanted the CD player because it was a cool gadget. Yet it made me who I am. I'm a music freak. I love music. It plays constantly in my room; it plays often in my mind. Many of my fundamental life moments have come through or along with my music.

There are the obvious ones, of course. I first had romantic contact with a girl whilst music was playing (it was a dance). I remember MTV as well as you do. I even remember loving certain songs as a five-year-old because of the drumbeat they had. Remember "Maneater?" What a great song. First Girlfriend? I was introduced to and continued to talk to her because we both loved U2. Other girls? We always had similar musical taste.

I tie certain songs and albums to certain points in my life. I mentally prepared myself to play lacrosse to the driving rhythms of the Nixons; Van Halen played before my wrestling matches and Miles Davis has been known to make appearances in my room before midterms, soothing my mind and allowing me to penetrate denser material.

Part of that fundamental feeling is the basis for music. I'm always looking to find new music that electrifies, that takes me, chews me up, spits me out, and makes me want more. I want new CDs to be flabbergasted by, addicted to and enveloped in. It's almost a religious experience when it happens. I felt that way when I first listened to Dave Matthews in 1995. I feel that way now when I listen to Pat McGee's music (be on the lookout), or any number of other bands.

This summer, I'm surrounded by people who like the very same things I do, enjoying myself. I'm being exposed to the type of music that of late has seized my brain and not let go. It's terrific, and I don't want it to end. And as far as I know, should my burgeoning plans follow through to the letter, I'm going to be an entertainment lawyer when I finish with my education. The work I'm doing now is forming stronger and broader foundations in an industry I hadn't really considered. I once thought I wanted to be a lawyer because it was a good living and it encompassed something I believed myself to be good at. Now it's a way of prolonging my contact with music and the things I love.

It was just the other day that I realized that my need for, my addiction, if you will, to new music and new albums started when I got my own CD player. And that's sort of surprising: who would think that such a piece of plastic, electronics and wiring would be a change of one's life. But it was. Rather than doing something because I thought it the only way to get ahead, I've made my summer based on my love for music, a love sponsored by what must have cost a hundred dollars.

Think about it, if you will: What investment have you made that seemed so insignificant at the time but instead turned out to be so fundamentally shaping?

And perhaps that's what this note has turned out to be. A call to arms, a decision for action. If you are the one who makes a seemingly insignificant investment of energy in tutoring a child, you have shaped that person forever. You will always be "my mentor" to someone. If you are the one who calls up a lonely person and asks them to go out dancing or to dinner or to a meal, you've made a difference: maybe you'll give them a story to tell, maybe you'll provide them with some insight they never had before and desperately needed. Indeed, you might even fall in love one night just because you made the decision to go out rather than stay in. Tonight could be that night. Me, I'm going out, and I'm going to listen to some music.

Paul S. Gutman '00 is a photography executive at The Crimson.