I was picking through Mystery Train by Greil Marcus the other day, and I came across a section in the author’s note that summarizes the way I feel about the intersection between the arts. It was one of those why-didn’t-I-put-it-this-way-long-before sort of moments:

“What I have to say in Mystery Train grows out of records, novels, political writings; the balance shifts, but in my intentions, there isn’t any separation. I am no more capable of mulling over Elvis without thinking of Herman Melville than I am of reading Jonathan Edwards. . .without putting on Robert Johnson’s records as background music. What I bring to this book, at any rate, is no attempt at synthesis, but a recognition of unities in the American imagination that already exist.”

For me, there’s always something on in the background when I read, be it Schubert, Herbie Hancock, or LFO. The music twists itself through the narrative and vice versa, and I can no longer imagine a separation between the two.