Bodymusic

Sometime today, I will have to stop what it is I'm doing, go to a mirror in my house and verify that it is I who reflects back. Why? Because something rather strange occurred today:

I made the unlikely purchase of Madonna's "Confessions On A Dance Floor" album.

Before all you macho clowns start jeering me with your sly remarks about possibles variations in my sexual preferences, let me reaffirm my taste for women, and women only. Yes, as absurd as it may seem, 7 years into the 21st century, there are still those who might find fodder for their insecurity kicks in the mere purchase of a CD. But enough of me defending myself for crimes I don´t commit.

What makes my purchase strange is that one or fifteen years ago, it would have never happened. Madonna has been a constant in the Top 40 for the past two decades, which, in itself, would be more than enough reason for me to cringe. Mind you that I recognize Madonna's "chameleonic" talents and that she is unquestionably a artist who deserves the utmost respect, love her or hate her. But Top 40 isn´t my thing, never has been. I'm a classic rock junkie with a recent tendency for electronic sounds. This recent tendency is where "Confessions..." falls in.

I have learned, as you may or may not have seen from my previous posts, to value new and different aspects of music. Whereas before, music had to reach me at both mental and physical levels, these days I'm equally satisfied when it drives me to a heavy night of shaking my bones.

"Bodymusic", I call it.

Not that I have forgotten or laid aside my previous tastes in music - quite the contrary. Instead or repainting my horizons, I have merely expanded the canvas to fit new colors. This, by the way, is a very cool feeling. I needed the change of scenery...

I've said it once and I'll say it again: Almost all music deserves a chance (almost = everyone has their limit and I'm no different). So, Madonna got her chance with me. And here I am, typing and bouncing to the sound of "I Love New York".