I went on a date.

She was interesting. I was awkward, and wanted to die.

But the night had its perks. She had pretty great taste in music. She was kind enough to share Gold Panda's "Quitters Raga" with me, for one.



She also had pretty great taste in music videos.

Music videos are not my thing. I love music because I'm jealous of it...of how easily it evokes emotions: subtle emotions, bold emotions, and emotions that're too alien for words.

It takes reams of prose to do what music does in two minutes. And music doesn't need the investigation that poetry requires, nor the focus that paintings demand.

Music slugs you in the fucking heart.

So attaching a video to it...well, it limits the experience. It does the introspection for you. "Here's what you should be imagining when you hear this."

Critics of Fantasia, for example, resent associating "Dance of the Hours" with tutu'd hippopotami.



The counter-argument is that Fantasia is a fucking masterpiece, and fuck you.

My date phrased it better (but only slightly). She explained that her favorite music videos provide a thrill of escapism.

The video for Beirut's "Elephant Gun" has a bunch of people twirling on a soundstage, but the song loads it with so much nostalgia, celebration, longing, and whimsy that she wished she could live there. The combination of music and film was enough to make her feel like a crowded, confetti-littered room could be a home.



Sigur Rós is important to me and my introspection...but when she showed me the video for "Gobbledigook," I had to admit, it wasn't half bad.



I was not my best self during my date, but if audio and visual can coexist, maybe I can too.