Music leads emotion, or vice versa?

Music and emotions are inextricably tied. I had a fascinating conversation on the matter last night with a long-time friend who recently got a big promotion. She said she has started to make a conscious effort to listen to upbeat, pop songs on her way to work so that she appears approachable and positive upon arrival. She used to listen to other fare, but her contemplative mood would make her seem distant and aloof. Her moody idealism ended with her college days she seemed to be saying.
Music doesn’t work that way on me, I often feel like the more somber, nostalgic, romantic works. I get happy from being sad, because I don’t let myself fall too far into the abyss. Just feeling any emotion strongly gets my blood flowing, as the child who will ask for even negative attention. It’s the same as most people’s desire to “feel better” by drinking a depressant. I’ve really been getting into the Be Good Tanyas, and even learned to play one my favorite songs last night. Nathan picked out the cords in about 2 measures, and with him on the guitar and me on the mandolin it became quite a jam. It felt good. It also felt good to talk to you Grace, I understand you not needing to rush out and get the CD, but you don’t know what you’re missing!

Expert Trackers

November SEAHA note from the editor

I took the mules and a coworker elk hunting last month. They had done it before, he had not. I was certain they would perform their duties well, and be proud ambassadors to the tradition. The 5 hour drive to Springerville was uneventful, and we made camp in the unfamiliar area. The next morning as we prepared to mount up, I remembered my preparations to protect the mules from near-sighted hunters. Knowing that a bay mule looks an awful lot like a cow elk, I began tying blaze-orange flagging tape on each mule quarter, tail, and head. “Are we going hunting or riding in a parade,” Frank asked? Adorned with festive regalia, we commenced our parade-hunt. We saw our first animals in the cut going down through the cliffs to the river bottom. Bighorn sheep, deer, and snake petroglyphs stared down at us from the red face. I thought of them as harbingers of fortune when we saw our first bull elk as we stopped for lunch. The mules calmly waited as we tracked it for fun, though we were actually licensed to hunt cow elk. When we returned to the tied mules, Frank couldn't find his bag of bagels that he'd left in his pack. The only clues were an empty wrapper and calm mules. We hunted deeper into the ravines and roadless areas, often dismounting and walking quietly on foot. Our tracking skills where soon honed to a high level, as we followed the elk footie-prints in the soft arroyo bottoms. But no elk. Only when we started making noise as we headed for camp did we of course spring 3 cows bedded above the dry wash. The mules calmly tolerated the rapid dismounts and clattering rifles as we tried to find a shot. To no avail, the brush was too thick. The next morning we decided to go in from a different direction, on foot to facilitate our scout-like tracking methods. Soon we were in another series of ravines, but they looked a lot more encouraging. There were tracks everywhere! We followed little ones that ran beside big ones. Singles, and even small groups, converging and diverging. We settled on some really big, clear tracks and started up the gully quietly. Foiled again, there was a human track beside them! Damn, maybe he will drive them towards us, we whispered. Those sure were big tracks. Finally, Frank pressed his foot down beside one of the interloper's footprints. The print was strangely identical. Say, those elk tracks don’t have points at the front. We were following our tracks from the day before. The mules quietly waited at camp, hoping to snag more bagels.