On loving music.

I have this obsession. It's called music. This insane thing happens to me when I'm listening to music - the heavier, the harder, the crazier the music, the more calm and collected I feel.
When I'm listening to a song that really strikes me musically - it touches me. Like heaven, my soul is absolutely open and willing to listen.

It all started with my big brothers. My idols; my heroes.

I'll never forget the time they brought home the Rage Against the Machine album, cranked up the volume and we screamed the words to "Killing in the Name" in our front loungeroom as though nothing else mattered in the world. Swear words and all: I was meant to be a boys' girl from that moment.

One of the first deep experiences I had with music was in my early adolescence. It had something to do with my first kiss. He was older than me, by one year. In those days, that was an eternity of age; I thought the guy was the messiah of experience. I fell in love with him because of the simplicity and stupidity of the experiences we had together. But in terms of music, he was an influential person in shaping my taste.

We were sitting on his couch, lounging back. We weren't going out or anything; I was too young and embarrassing and unattractive to be his actual girlfriend. But still - something kept him revolving around me. He had put on the CD player and the drone of Kurt Cobain's voice wafted through the speakers. For a mid-90s Pearl Jam fan myself, I thought Nirvana sounded instinctively depressing. I didn't like thinking about sad things. I was young. I liked fun and happiness and enjoyment. I had never really thought of deep feelings or any of that stuff.

"Come As You Are" was playing. He turned to me, his eyes slightly closed and his head turned back, a pleasurable smile tinting his face. "Don't you just love Nirvana?" I stared at him a bit and replied, "It sounds a bit depressing. I don't know." He smiled at me and said, "No really, listen. Listen to the music. Listen to the sadness in his voice. Once you get into this, you'll never go back. Kurt Cobain is a true artist."

There was something about the guitars which struck me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I was thirteen or fourteen at the time. Kurt had only died a year beforehand, and the true fans were still mourning his passing and lamenting his music. As the years wore on, Kurt gathered more and more fans from his tragic death than through his life, and I moved on to my next love, the budding Dave Grohl who took Nirvana to a more upbeat, controlled kind of rock in his next band, The Foo Fighters. They suited me better.

But, from that day sitting on that couch with my first love teaching me about music, I listened to Nirvana more and more. It became my anthem of sadness. It tainted my heartbreak as I realised that first loves inevitably dissolve. Youth doesn't mix very well with love. But Kurt kind of got me through those years, as I listened to the tender pain in his voice.

The next heartbreaking album that shaped my tastes was Jeff Buckley's "Grace". I don't even think I need to explain that one. Except that I think I began to form an extreme attraction to singer/guitarists who died at age 27. It annoyed me, all these suicidal artists, because I was someone who never wanted to be depressed. I was the happiest person I knew. But I did start to contemplate things at a whole new level, and the prettiness of their music stunned me into submission. By the age of 16 I was changing. I was maturing. I was becoming more physically beautiful, much to my surprise. And with that, the complexities of relationships started to grow. I still thought of myself as that ugly, unwanted little girl who was never good enough for the older guy whom I loved. I thought I was unattractive, so I used my vibrant personality to get myself through every situation and climb the ranks of popularity. People wanted to talk to me. Boys started taking interest in me. My parents started tightening the reins on me. I became angry in my world - held back from my potential, my growth. I wanted to be like the girls I worked with. Get a tattoo, get a nipple ring, be sexy, be wanted, be free.

Angry rock music started a cycle in my life. I would lock myself in my room and play the heaviest music around at the time. I'm surprised I'm not deaf from the amounts of music I used to play. I was a music addict, a maestro of knowledge at the time. Anything that was played on Triple J was in my spectrum of taste. I would try to teach others around me. The boys loved my music knowledge; the girls hated it. It was a sad time when I left high school and started going clubbing. Because at the time, there were no clubs that played music of my element. I was stuck listening to R&B or pop music every time I went to Fremantle or Northbridge. I became disillusioned. Why were people listening to this commercial rubbish when there were so many rich musical experiences around them?

And then life happened. A spiral occurred. Complications, boyfriends. I worried too much about moving out, finishing Uni, getting a job, getting a life.

I forgot about all the things I loved. Or so I thought.

Once I had a boyfriend who said to me, "yeah I guess we were never going to work out. Music is too important to you." I thought differently after that. I realised, 'yeah, he's right. We are too different.' Music is too big a part of me to compromise on someone who doesn't share my passion. In recent years though, people have swarmed in and out of my life, reminding me what I lost. Almost like those crazy 'meant to be' moments, I have met people who have changed me.  I have re-instilled my love of music, finding new and defining experiences. Triple J is still my backbone. Alternative, fresh new music is the key. Pushing the boundaries of possibility is what I love searching for.

 Listening to a new sound and realising that my heart is momentarily cured: Priceless.

I b