In related news, I'd downloaded the commentary track for my good friend David Cloyd's first record on Engine Company Records, "Unhand Me You Fiend".  And it's 20 minutes or so of David and Blake Morgan, who owns the company and co-produced the record, discussing the process of making the record and pointing out little quirks and things to listen for along the way.  Some of this was things that David and I had discussed in passing, and some I hadn't heard before, but the whole experience was a little strange to me.  

I suppose it shouldn't be surprising in a world of 140 character updates where people tell you what they're up to all the time that we're growing accustomed to devouring information.  And if you like something, generally, you want to know all you can about it.  And, despite all the information you could get off a commentary track, or hearing an interview with the person about the album, movie, book, etc., the generation of the art stays something specifically personal.  It's not that I can't or couldn't write the KIND of songs that David does (although it'd be a cheap copy if I did); it's that writing those particular songs is an experience unique to David, no matter how much he lets you know about it.  And those songs, because he's honest with himself as a writer, are always going to be better than the songs people write in a deliberate attempt to imitate the style.

Still, there's something lost, I think, in knowing all you can about a book, or a painting, or a song, or a movie.  I'm always a bit sad when I learn a song I love; some of the mystery is lost.  You've taken it apart to try to see what made it tick, and even if you attempt to put it back together, it isn't quite the same.  It doesn't mean you love it any less, but they way you experience it isn't the way it was.  I think there are a few songs I deliberately haven't learned because of that; I only want to experience them the way I first fell in love with them.  

Of course, after we experience anything a second time, regardless of the context, the experience changes.  We can still be thrilled, but can we be surprised?  In small ways, I think we can, which may have been what was strange about listening to David's track; in pointing out what I should listen for, it won't be something that surprises me on a listen further down the line (or perhaps it will, if I forget the commentary track, which is quite possible).  The experience of art is just as personal as the creation, although I guess I'm a little concerned that there seem to be a lot people out there who want to be told what just happened to them.  I feel a little sorry for them.  

In a lot of ways, it's not unlike love itself.  The longer you're with someone, the more you know them.   The nature of the relationship changes with time, but they can still find ways to surprise you.  And I suppose there will always be people you love because you didn't get to know them any better; they can be held as an ideal in your own head.  

Eh.  I'm getting too thinky again, when all I really want to do is crank up Soulhat's "Bonecrusher" and feel the bass drum kick me in the chest.