Nights In White Satin
It’s a Tuesday afternoon and my favourite volunteer in the charity shop just finished telling me about a palm-reading book she put aside for me because she thought I’d like it. I don’t usually check the records here because every time I do, it’s just Leo Sayer and about a hundred so-and-so’s and their jazz bands. No offence. But I had a couple of hours to kill at home alone and there was something about the way the cloudy evening was shaping up that drew me over to the shelves.
And god damn, I knew it. I almost squealed as I pulled out a perfect pressing of Days of Future Passed, the late 60s psychedelic conceptual creation from The Moody Blues. It had a handwritten sticker on the front that said ‘two pounds’. ‘Only?’ I thought. I checked over both shoulders to make sure I wasn’t being Punk’d and picked up a Hank Williams Jr country record and a compilation of Hare Krishna hymns so as to not appear suspicious.
I emerge from the charity shop, my arms replete with music and the rain is picking up. When it's cloudy and wet at sunset, time becomes ambiguous and the light gets weird. I’d already felt like the trees had been speaking to me, but in the absence of a bag for my new LPs and the rain in my face I was in no position to listen. I ran home to find a note my boyfriend had left for me on yellow paper; there’s a jam donut in the breadbox for me. This day could not get any better.
My record player lives on top of the cabinet where all my records are kept, but there is no plug socket nearby to power it, so in order to play a record, I have to place it oddly around my flat like an oversized analogue iPod. It’s now placed on the floor of my living room, and I decide that is where I’ll listen to The Moody Blues. Around the player, I’ve placed every cushion and pillow that I own onto the floor, and on top of them is where I sit with a cup of hot peppermint tea, a jam donut and a freshly washed pear wrapped in paper. And the needle drops.
I crunch through the pear as the music fills the room like honey and I’m floating above the waves as if I just popped a tab. It dawns upon me that I haven’t sat and listened to music in a while. Music is often an accompaniment to an activity that is less fun, used like an auditory upper that enriches the experience, and therefore fun increases. Running, cleaning, working, and getting groceries, all are experiences that we choose to soundtrack to make them more bearable. But I think it’s important to make time to kick it back and do nothing but listen.
From the floor, I notice the shadows on my ceiling moving with each car that drives through the road beneath my flat, and the sun has now firmly placed itself on the other side of the horizon. My living room is dark, and I am a small bundle of cushions, music, and mint.