I woke up this morning with one word on my lips: Muse.
This is the first work day in recent memory where I have been genuinely excited to get out of bed.
Nutty Hubby and I are going to see Muse play at Rogers Arena tonight and the anticipation is powering me like some kind of nuclear fusion reactor. To be honest, there’s a good chance I might just spontaneously combust before I even get to the venue, because I have the most unladylike hard-on for Muse’s sound and I’m already having impure thoughts about humping the nearest speaker when I get to hear that shit live.
I’ve always had a strong physical response to music I find particularly compelling. The day I bought Matthew Good’s Avalanche CD, my cells tried to explode in every direction in solidarity with the album’s unapologetically defiant tone. The first time I heard the Smashing Pumpkins’ Tonight Tonight, I was weeping uncontrollably four notes in from the sheer beauty of the strings. I could probably spend a year just listening to Clint Mansell’s soundtrack from The Fountain; mind suspended in a state of euphoria; heart, a glowing sea of molten gold pounding itself into surf against my ribs.
And then there’s the existence of people like Muse’s Matthew Bellamy, whose vocal cords apparently have a direct line to my G-spot.
I need a cold shower just thinking about this concert.
Google tells me my sense of heightened arousal caused by music is a paraphilia called melolagnia. Yikes. Normally I like to be able to put names to the faces of all my little oddities, but is it just me or does “melolagnia” sound like some terribly unsexy medical affliction, like a suspicious mole’s lazy no-good brother-in-law who’s 41 and still lives in his parents’ basement?
“Oh yeah, baby, you send my melolagnia into overdrive.”
“…you probably should go get that checked out.”
“LOL, it’s not-”
“LALALALALALA can’t hear you, busy showering in bleach…”
Yeah, thanks, Google, but I think I’ll just stick with “prone to the occasional soundgasm”.
On a related note, I’m really hoping they’ll play Hysteria tonight, partly because it gives me a big ol’ bass guitar boner but also because I find the title delightfully apposite on a personal level, considering the whole female hysteria craze of yore.
Also on that note, fair warning; should this prove to be my final blog post, it means I died of a colossal excess of pleasure during Knights of Cydonia.
Please, do not mourn my passing.
It’s how I always hoped I’d go.