I don’t know when it started. It could be the days sitting next to the record player, listening to Peter, Paul and Mary with my parents.
It could be the hundreds of times I waited for my song to come on the radio so I could record it on my tape player. Or the dozens of times I called the radio station to request my favorite song, hoping they would choose my song over their playlist. When I bought my first tape, I was in seventh grade and LL Cool J would wake me up before school.
I would find more and more music throughout my life. But I don’t know when it started.
Each morning, there is a song in my head.
It might be a pop song, a punk song, a musical or something I actually hate. I start each day with an earworm. Sometimes those earworms bring me back to my childhood or back to when Kora was a kid, and I was dragging her to shows in Philadelphia and DC.
Music follows me throughout the day. It’s an aesthetic force that can transform my emotions in a single note.
For decades, listening to music and seeing live music has allowed me to find a new place in my head or clear out emotional blocks.
It is also the thing I am the most opinionated about.
I don’t get some styles of music. I get into heated conversations and fights about music with just about anyone.
It conjures such emotion that it is almost comical to watch my reactions. If something is on the radio I don’t like, I will immediately turn it off and trash-talk the artist.
I’ve left concerts early and walked out on opening acts and headliners.
It is an idiosyncrasy that I think is probably off-putting to a ton of people. I don’t think I should be so judgy about someone’s love of their music and I’ve tried not to make fun of Phish fans, but I just think their music is absolute garbage. (Sorry, to all the Phish fans everywhere)
I am positive people hate some of my favorites; they are probably kinder and avoid yum yucking.
There is something about music that allows everyone to have an opinion. It might be why I surround myself with it.
Music might be the only time we don’t need to talk. We just need to feel.
Last month, I joined a few friends in Nashville to see a show at the Ryman Auditorium. I don’t know if it was the closeness of my friends, the warmth of the wood throughout the building or the incredible voices of Ben Nichols and Jason Isbell.
But I do know my hair on my arms stood straight up. Not many experiences summon goosebumps, but I am always pumped when they do, even if it is an earworm.
Brian and friends at The Ryman
November is always a time for reflection for me. With my birthday and the end of the year approaching, it causes me to take stock of a few things each year. Finding the aesthetic force that shakes you and clears out your head is something I hope everyone finds. And maybe, I should stop being so judgy about it.
Anyways.
November 2026 soundtrack:
If you’d rather fix broken processes than argue about jam bands, I’m teaching ICMA’s Innovation Bootcamp this winter.