What is Music? Well, in this case, the more appropriate question would be who is Music? I’ve always had the idea for an anthropomorphic entity that represented all music. It came to me while reading Neil Gaiman’s extraordinary Sandman series. What music would look like and sound like? Well, Music is tall, lanky, with eyes and hair as black as a fresh vinyl pressing of your favorite album. Faint music would roll off of his hair, not seen to the ordinary, but with enchanting powers like a pied piper of sorts. Music and the makers have a symbiotic relationship, but since the days of Robert Johnson, Music has taken an interest in souls. The souls of a musician ripen by the age of 27 and that’s when he takes them and consumes them.

I hope to pen this character some day, until then I had the idea; I’ve always wanted to do a series of short stories that were based on songs. Sometimes, I envision some of my favorite songs as taking place in interesting settings. For instance, whenever I listen to Bruce Springsteen’s “Atlantic City,” I see a dystopian world full of corruption, where the Casinos have taken over. In my head, that’s how I picture Music experiencing his namesake, as stories that unfold like moving pictures. So, armed with that kind of spirit, I got a few friends to write stories based on songs that I hand picked myself. Over the course of the month, they will appear here, the first appearing on April 3rd.

With that, let us begin and look into Music’s Box:

Music lived underground. The spirit of irony was not lost on him, because all music started underground, or at least in the garage. Hell, the Beatles got their start in the underground, literally. Music’s lair is cozy and furnished with the normal accouterments common to most dwellings. There is a pullout couch, tattered and worn. A special coffee table that has coffee table books with album art. No TV though, he doesn’t believe in it. Music believes in a fine collection of vinyl, the only way to experience music aside from the front row. The stacks of vinyl included music from all the souls he’d taken throughout the years: Robert Johnson, Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain; the list goes on and on. There are the Beatles, Beach Boys, Pink Floyd, Van Halen, so many albums, all original pressings and in mint condition.

His most prized possession though is a very special box, as old as the original makers of the Dybbuk boxes. In them he stores the souls of his favorite songs, for every song has a life all its own.

Music sat on the couch, his weight forcing a sound indicating that it could buckle at any second. It never does. Objects have a way around music: always working, never breaking. Music took hold of his box and opened it. Big lights and bright sounds emanated from it. That is how music should be experienced, he thought. He rifles through them, as an audiophile would a stack of vinyl.

Music sat reliving his favorites, his greatest hits, his greatest tributes.

What