Okay, so it would seem that Oliver Sacks agrees with me that an obsession with music is related to neurological problems; he has a new book: Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain. I would feel vindicated except I really can't stand Oliver Sacks. He reminds me of Jim Garrison making a case for a JFK conspiracy theory. "Lee Harvey Oswald and Clay Shaw both used the same post office in New Orleans!" He's not saying it means anything, he's just putting it out there. Because it's a completely meaningless but sexy bit of trivia. That's dishonorable enough if you're an ex-doctor like Michael Crichton, but Oliver Sacks has some credibility. That's why it ticks me off so much when he interrupts some interesting tale in The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat or Migraine to speculate that his unfortunate brain-damaged patient has no soul.
Of course, my late in life music obsession may be dwindling. I say this because Gary bought a Rob Zombie CD today and I found no value in it. Of course, I only heard the first few songs. Perhaps Track 7 is a lyrical and articulate precis of the situation in Rwanda.
On the other hand, I particularly liked the snippet of Alanis Morrisette's new song Not As We on House last Tuesday. (You can click that link to hear the snippet, but only if you don't mind seeing a distracting Alanis Montage at the same time.) It's not as warbly as her first two CDs and not as sugary as Everything. It's a nice balance.
Not that I know anything about music, because I really only started listening a few years ago when I lost my soul.