I went to see Phillip Phillips last Sunday with my concert date cousin, Kelly. He's phenomenal. He won American Idol two years ago and I clearly remember his audition and remember him being my favourite from that point on.
He was on stage with a few guitars, a keyboard, drum set and trumpet. His music has a good beat. According to Yahoo Answers he plays 'pseudo folk rock' - whatever that means (I hate the concept of 'genre' in books AND music, I mean, good is good, right?). It was loud enough that it reverberated in my ribs and lungs. Funny, the best thing I can compare that to is a cat lying on your back and purring - is there anything more relaxing? My point is the music goes right through me, consumes me and with it consumes my stress and anxiety, my fatigue, my irritability and lulls me into a calm, happy, soul-settled place.
Writing does that too. And drawing. It's strange because my writing would is silent. I do best when the kids are not playing video games in the next room or calling out to me every injustice they have suffered (at a rate of one per 3.5 minutes). It's pretty much the opposite of the crowded, flashing, buzzing concert. But the resulting calm force is the same.
Maybe the creative, artistic side of my brain controls the oxytocin? I dunno. But it's a reliably consistent affect. I've gotten a little addicted to it, truthfully.
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