Music is a form of escape.
In relaxation rooms, soft and soothing instrumental music will be played in the background. You are encouraged to close your eyes and enter a fantasy world where green grassland seems neverending and butterflies circle around you.
In clubs, you drink a shot (maybe two, or three… ok, maybe a dozen). You get drank and you shake your body with the music that makes no sense. With your butt sticking out and hip kissing the hip of your partner, you allow your body to take control over your mind. You escape from the world where legitimacy and class rules.
Music is emotional.
You cannot explain rationally why it makes you cry, laugh or smile like you are in another world…
Music is emotional because it just is.
“I love you” sounds plain and boring when said in mono-tone. When it is sang out by Michael Buble’s dreamy voice in dim lights and old New York context, you becomes teary.
You are a falling star. You are every line, every word, everything. These are terrible clichés that no writers will EVERY use to convey their feelings. They just seem so senseless; but when sang out, they becomes the perfect lyrics that send you from wet, gloomy Melbourne to bright, rainbow-ish grassland.
He slides, jokes, curses and dances in his suit. He sings his old old classic jazz and you can truly sees how much he enjoys it.
He got the world on a string
I love Music. I don’t know why, I just enjoy them.
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For babies born in the 80s... 
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