What's music supposed to be about anyway? - pamphlet against pseudo-love for music

For me, music is supposed to be something like going to a wild coast, climbing a high cliff hanging right into the sea, staring to the horizon, taking a deep breath and jumping into the tide. There you feel how you are drowned in that huge sea, swallowed by that something big and thick, just before you get forced up again and end up floating on the surface while feeling how your body rocks with the waves. Then you will see the birds flying over you and you watch their acrobatic feats around the rocks.
This picture is clearly set against to just going to the cliffs and watching the motionless horizon, peeking down the rocks to catch a glimpse of how the tides roll against the cliffs or just standing there and observing the birds’ flight.
It’s about anticipating and preparing for the great leap, about feeling the atmosphere, getting involved and dissolving in the environment before eventually coming up and see the refined and sophisticated parts of the whole play. But even then you always want to feel the tides of the sea that will keep you rocking even when the birds land to take a rest or run out of ideas for their acrobatic flight.
In general, pop doesn’t fulfill these criterias. You just go to a cliff and try to impress with some bold sunset. Norah Jones-kind of crappy jazz neither. You just stare dwn on a rippled surface and take some pictures to show off when you hang out with other blunt r simply cowardish „alternatives“. Anyway, „alternatives“ are the most boring kin in this entire world: Just wanting to be different doesn’t give you any taste of its own. Go and screw yourself, you self-loving jerks in turtlenecks with your apple computers, starbucks coffee and organic food.
Classic actually doesn’t meet those criterias, either. Observing birds through a telescope set up on a tripod in front of an arm chair makes you go as much with the tide as doing low-riding with a tank.
Of course, I’m provocative, you thin-skinned, sensitive pussies. But the mere fact that Classic music generally doesn’t provide any lyrics makes it quite difficult to read anything out of the birds’ flight.
Or let me explain this the other way around: I just realized this evening that my love in music had gone hand in hand with my language proficiency (and not my skills in playing instruments). Lyrics are poems – or are supposed to be at least. But then, I can’t listen to songs with unimaginitive lyrics or about fake feelings or experiences anyway. Love songs are a typical case: There are way too many love songs where you can simply smell how hard the artist tried to vomit out some after all uninspired rhymes about feelings never really experienced. Take „The View“ for example and compare it to the new „Depeche Mode“-album „Playing the Angel“. Now you know what I’m talking about – of Ki no Tsurayuki’s theory about the correlation of authenticity and quality in poems, applied on song lyrics just 1300 years later. The fact that many European countries still provide many local artists in their hitparades might support the importance of lyrics, too. Of course, marketing advantages and differences in local music taste definitely play along. But people like to sing along, preferably while knowing what they’re singing about and preferably by singing about something decent. And once you’ve made the same experiences and really understand the lyrics, meaning that you learn of the meaning behind mere words you start to appreciate them even more – provided that there is any meaning.
So what’s the conclusion? You can’t grasp the meaning of music as long as you’re in it while on the other hand you start to get bored if it doesn’t provide anything more than some waves. And of course, fuck you, Norah Jones-freaks.