Twenty-Something Year Old Journalist

“My Sweet Lord (2014 Remaster)” by George Harrison. This is truly the song that started it all. 

I stumbled upon this song in a “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” inspired Spotify playlist. (Can you tell I just watched A Complete Unknown?) 4 minutes and 41 seconds later into this randomly shuffled Spotify playlist, I felt like I had truly felt music for the first time. I had found the most stunning, most gut–wrenchingly beautiful song ever created — I had quite literally struck gold.

Although identifying the original intent of a song is not my strong suit, the meaning this song took on to me has allowed this song to feel like its own being, an entity of its own. 

At 1 minute and 48 seconds, when the song gains even more passion, despair, emotion, longingness, I can truly feel the song. It completely takes over and demands immediate acknowledgement. The “Hallelujahs,” angelic “ahhhs,” and “Hare Krishnas” that accompany Mr. Harrison’s lyrics have me itching to give organized religion another go. 

I could not wait to spread the scripture that is “My Sweet Lord” by George Harrison. I had just found, personally discovered, the most beautiful song in the entire world, a song that could end wars — I truly believed myself to be the Messiah. 

If George Harrison was God, then I was Moses and the painfully gorgeous lyrics and sounds of “My Sweet Lord” were the Ten Commandments for which the human race needed to adhere to. 

My feelings of divineness were short lived, however, after the agonizing discovery that I had not stumbled upon a rare gem, as this gem was actually quite popular and that my dear George Harrison, my lord and savior for 4 minutes and 41 seconds at a time, was actually quite popular as well, being a member of The Beatles and having what many believe to be the greatest post-Beatles album of all time — this was all news to me. 

Rather than be disappointed by my negligence of awe-inspiring music, I marched right back into that Spotify playlist in an attempt to discover other hidden gems that were able to go undetected by myself for oh so many years. 

This led me to “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver, “At Last” by Etta James, “Dream A Little Dream Of Me” by The Mamas & Papas, “My Way” by Frank Sinatra, “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” by Bob Dylan, “A Day In The Life” by The Beatles, (arguably the most brilliant song ever created) The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds, “Under the Boardwalk” by Otis Redding and oh so many more. 

After hearing these songs I haven’t been able to go back to my regularly scheduled listening habits, the Taylor Swifts and Charli XCX’s of it all. Maybe I really was born in the wrong generation. 

I struggle to pinpoint exactly what makes music from the 60s, specifically, so innately beautiful and so otherworldly. 

These songs are each their own beings, each their own divine entities — these artists were creating art and discovering the power of music by experimenting with instrumentation and arrangements, using new recording techniques, indulging with psychedelics, they were truly creating what feels like a living piece of art. 

Each song has its own intention and purpose for its creation. Although I love the artists of today’s age, so many songs get lost within the Top 40, each a slight derivative of one another. It is not lost on me the copyright infringement that my dear, sweet lord was sued for, but music in the 60s really knew how to define itself, or rather refused to be defined by anything. 

I know I am only twenty-something years old, (Apologies if you feel aged) but the music that defined the 60s seemed to explore the true power that music can yield, and the artists that occupied the radios (Jukeboxes? Tapes? Horse and carriage?) used music intentionally — to create art, to push the limits, to say something that means something.

And to think I haven’t even discovered the music of the 70s yet.