The John (An Entry Far Too F***ing Long-Winded For It's Own Good)

I am not talking about toilets
I am talking about Mayer's John.
Say about him what you will I love his music. Straight from Room For Squares it's been a lot of jumping around in dark rooms on Friday nights, a lot of inebriated nodding and swaying, a lot of crying and the occasional shout of SING IT, MR MAYER! Because I know he knows.
Yup - that is what OUR relationship is all about. Honesty. Understanding.

Sometimes my cynical self goes something like this:
Good thing, JM is around - he goes on Soul Searchers and comes back with bags of knowledge so you don't have to. Of course, I chide this part of myself and retort, that really what JM is doing - and kindly so - is to provide a soundtrack to life, not so much his, exclusively, but  - since we are all experiencing basically the same thing - a large portion of "us".

Coming to think of it - I am not a musician, I am a language person, so the notes and riffs and the whole composition which I am sure are fascinating, are way beyond me.
But still I believe JM is a poet, too. In the literal sense of the word.
Is that too much?
Not sure.
Am I singing praises where they are not deserved?
No clue.
What I know is that his words - and I know, too I am mixing metaphors here - think of it as COLLAGE - are like snapshots.
And WHAT do you mean by that, Ms.? Pray, tell!
Well. He highlights a mood, a feeling/emotion - a quick observation, a hint of something, nothing lasting, just a thought. And that is what photographers do, right?
Both capture something. Something intimate. It's like looking at the world through their eyes. Cliché, I know. Can't think of a decent metaphor. Am not Alexander Pope after all. So there.

 - FIFTH BEAKER - I would like to mention this, Void, and though I know you are as unforgiving and uncaring as ever and in ANY way possible, I am STILL recording it!
... for posterity... or whatever. That is a contradiction in terms I know... but hey it is New Year's Eve and I am on my fifth beaker.

I have lost my train of thought completely - not that it was ever there... mark that down to beakers and heavy drinking. So sorry.

I was - in fact - advised to take up drinking to get myself in the proper creative mood. If writing would not come - and I think it was meant as if Creativity is reluctant  - then "seduce her by all means possible".
I believe that was to say: Take charge. Get drunk if need be and coax her out.
Her?
Her?!
Anyway - a healthy drinking habit is said to have been beneficial to many a literary endeavour. Not so much the liver, mind you.
But! This is a story for some other time.
It's a good one.
It's Christmassy and all in the "Spirit of the Holiday" and "Good-will-toward -men (and women, clearly)-malarkey.

Back to Mr. John Mayer. Who is as flawed as the next person. So?
I think what really matters and is the only thing that should matter - since he is a songwriter and musician first and foremost - that he has an ear as well as an eye - and perhaps, most of all, he has a heart.
'coz it takes a heart to be bothered in the first place.
By the every-day. By the minutiae of a so-called ordinary life. By the insecurities of growing-up. By Love. By breaking-up. By Not-knowing-what-the-hell-to-do-with-the-rest-of-your-life. The list goes on.
JM is a archivist. A diarist. A snap-shot-taker, for lack of a better word.

For some reason I am a little worried that he might be offended, arguing that it takes so much more than just clicking the button in the right moment. His recording is both a challenge of words and of notes and keys. And while writing that I am not even sure what that means.
I think it tries to touch upon the fact that both lyrics as well as music are involved in this particular artistic process.
Be that as it may, in cometh the laywoman:  - Both are a kind of a language, right?