That headline comes with a huge asterisk: it’s music I write by. That’s all I can speak to. When I undertook to culture you on art, I began by telling you that art is subjective, emphatic period. That goes double for music, and double double, if Euclid allows, for music to accompany creation.
I like classical, but not all of the time. I like to drive to rock, many kinds. Jethro Tull goes well with yard chores and woodworking, interestingly enough. Reggae, punk, folk, classic country – they all take a turn on my play-list.
And none of that is likely, or reasonably expected to, impact your musical tastes in the least. If you like the same music I do, fantastic. If not I love ya just the same. My music’s mine, yours is yours, and although I’m willing to culture you up one side and down the other, I wouldn’t tell you what music to listen to.
Except when it comes to writing.
If you can write without a soundtrack, or even if you prefer to – fine. But if you need same background noise, then do as I do. Eschew anything with lyrics. You’re dealing in words, and can’t have the distraction of words on the air. Stick to instrumentals.
That still leaves you a universe of fine music to choose from. I encourage you to give it all a spin. But if you’ve come here for a shortcut, a pointer toward writerly music that will have you floating on middle Baroque notes while your fingers build your opus, then I can do that.
I don’t write by Pachelbel everytime, but everytime I do I write and write well.
But then in fairness, I share Rob Paravonian’s counterpoint opinion, not quite as pro-Pachelbel:
What is culture? By one definition it’s a thriving petri dish. That’s a metaphor for human culture for only the most cynical among us.
