The Panda posted on Facebook this morning that he was listening to certain music, and it made me feel the need to immediately get my butt out of bed... if only to put some music on.
And then get back into bed and write this.
Admittedly now I look like I have St Vitus' Dance, as I resemble a spider doing some kind of weird headbanging mattress jump up and down to Chris Cornell, but still. The ambition to be incredibly rhythmic is there; sadly, it just doesn't translate very well.
Music is amazing. I know I have talked about the the songs or pieces of music that I am most grateful for previously, but this isn't about favourites, or even about genres.
It's simply about rhythm and melody.
Rhythm... and melody.
Who in their teenage years didn't dream of being in a band - come to think of it, who still holds fast to that dream somewhere deep down? I have no hesitation in admitting that somewhere, somehow, Kate S is about to appear in another sell out stadium - or appearing out of the blue in a small jazz club to sing 'My Baby Just Cares For Me' and disappear into the night leaving people to wonder 'was that who I think it was?'.
That's the power of the beat. Songs are insidious - they get into our psyche and if they get a grip on our emotions, it's a life long love affair. You will always remember that moment where or when you first heard that song.
And sometimes it's a case of never forgetting the person who first played it for you.
So today, throw on some music. Dag it up. Play what you love, not what you think you should be listening to. As long as it's not the Bieber, I am not Tuneist. Anything goes. Oh what the hell - it's your eardrums - play the little weasel if you want. Just dance, as they say, like nobody's watching. Sing into your hairbrush, or your rolled up magazine, or toss the vacuum cleaner around like it's a microphone stand and you are doing the Mick Jagger strut to Start Me Up.
And the beat goes on.
And I am grateful that I can hear it.