On Waxing Lyrical Pt.III: Aesthetics

There is a magic that happens when I relate to music. An overwhelming sensation. It trickles down my spine. It pulls at my skin. My breathing becomes shallow. My pulse races and eyes widen. It gets to a stage where it possesses me to such an extent that my roughly outlined monthly budget transforms petrol funds into disposable income and the collection grows.

Towards the end of Matric, my interests turned to the emerging garage-guitar rock bands. I explored the sounds of The Strokes, The Vines and The Hives before coming to rest on the bluesy grit of The White Stripes. I was in London for my gap year when I got White Blood Cells, their third album. And while two of their singles received somewhat limited airplay and somewhat better success, it was the rest of the tracks that broke me. We're Going to be Friends, This Protector, Hotel Yorba and Now Mary found their way into my heart. But it was the personal identification with the heartfelt and tragic beauty of The Same Boy you've always Known that convinced me to get their back catalogue.

I progressed from CD's to MP3's at this stage and I toured parts of Western Europe with my music. The first stop was, unsurprisingly, the 3 day Pukkelpop music festival. Before this, Feeder had been the only international act that I had seen. I missed Counting Crows', Collective Soul's and Live's first South African visits. So it was three days of Christmas for me. The most influential of the acts at the festival was the Foo Fighters. Prior to the set, I had heard a handful of their songs. Afterwards, I had been converted into an all out fanatic. The energy and raw power of their performance was too much to resist and I bought their first three albums all at once, of which The Colour and The Shape became my absolute favourite. Their fourth album and their live DVD followed soon after. Their latest album, In your Honor, had as profound an effect on me. The power of the rock disc and the stunning texture of the acoustic disc convinced me to start saving for another trip to Europe that would conveniently coincide with a Foo Fighters performance.