“And those who were dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” – Friedrich Neitzsche 

And Those Who Were Dancing is a column for music lovers and music learners who find themselves thinking about songs long after they stop playing. Whether it’s advice, reflection, or analysis, Carly wants to convey what music has offered to her life and how it has helped her develop.  

Sometimes, I hate the songs that I’ve grown to love so much. The rush of hearing a comforting, familiar tune becomes predictably numbing. As I effortlessly mumble the words, I miss that sweet moment in time when I knew enough to instinctively follow along but still found welcome surprises within the sound. 

A few months ago, this feeling of dissatisfaction overtook most of my listening experiences. I was badgered by the uncomfortable sense that I didn’t really enjoy my own music taste anymore. I recall a specific moment that epitomized this feeling: I scrolled through my playlists to prepare the family Subaru for a picturesque suburban drive, and I deflated as I registered that I had no desire to play any of them. For some reason, I preferred the muffled sound of the wind whipping by. Loving music had always been a part of my identity; I knew I had to make a change. 

I discovered that my underlying problem was a conflict between experimenting and comfortability. I delighted in experimenting, but found myself trust-falling into the reliable embrace of old habits and comfort artists. I didn’t know the benefits that could come from diving into unfamiliar sounds. My turning point arrived when I prioritized feeling engaged or captured by music rather than pacified. Adventuring past the plateau of slight uncertainty about a song or a genre would cost at most a few minutes and could mean a whole new realm of sound and experience. 

So, I made time: combing Apple Music Top 100 Albums of All Time (some hot takes there), Shazaming songs in cafés and stores, listening to my Daily Mixes and artist radios, diving into movie soundtracks and even intently listening to my mom’s Pandora selection on our trips. My favorite questions became “What music do you like?” and “What song is this?” I developed a newfound appreciation for folk, country, jazz, French and other incredibly wide umbrella genres I had previously regarded as one-dimensional. I listened attentively to niche genres like Stomp and Holler as well as classics like Yacht Rock.

And it was fun. The feeling during my experimental journey didn’t match that numbing comfort from the flow of familiar melodies. Rather, it was bold excitement that came from a process of learning. Seeking out new music was akin to acting as my own teacher, and as a pupil, I have learned to love the music I am taught. I am still on this learning journey, though I do joke with my friends that my music growth has been stymied after becoming a college student.

We are all learners, and I think that as learners, the feeling that we aren’t branching out to our fullest is intrinsic. If you feel that slump with music, try to appreciate the initial uncomfortability of exploring new tastes. If you have the patience and willingness to try, you’ll feel rewarded as the music grows on you. Striking that balance between exploration and familiarity makes me excited to put my headphones in again.