It Bothers Me That Your Face Doesn't Match Your Voice

I have this issue, it pops up every now and then, mostly at inconvenient times when all you want is the opposite to happen. Like feeling ridiculously tired in church or lectures, to the point of micro-sleeping, that's a bother. This one, however, wrecks things in my head for the long term.

Listening to a song, it's easy enough to like it.
When you start to grow particularly attached though, you build a bit of a persona for the musician, what that man with the velvety voice would look like and the types of feelings he has. I feel terribly ripped off when I inadvertently discover the person, a horrid realisation that the voice does not match the face, and it mostly ruins my whole aural experience from that point on.

Im a visual kinda gal, and once an image is in my head, it's burned in there for the rest of time. It's a handy gift at times, like being able to remember the look on your lecturers face if you ever mention that you're in an 80's inspired electro-punk outfit, but a curse in other moments – like walking in on your parents. Ahem.

The visual wreckage most recently happened with a friend. He's a quietly cool kind of guy, and has some occasional gems of musical knowledge that blow your mind. I liked the song so much I made him find it again and play it multiple times - despite my initial dismissal of the song, lyrically, it grew on me. We discussed it again today, and it played again. Mentioning something about the video, I eventually fell upon a live recording of the band and this song. No tricky lighting, no special effects, just the horribly real looking man in all his middle-aged glory. Not the soulful British scenester I had built in my head, that's for sure.

It's terrible. Amazing song, I would have claimed love for it over almost anything else I'd heard recently. How dare he look so unattractive.

I have these moments of blatant disgust, then feel all terrible within myself for thinking like I do.

To quote my friend, it's horribly “pretentious in my judgement”, “he's a real guy with real feelings, it's real, you know”. Apparently, this makes it all the more amazing. As I sat there rolling my eyes and trying to explain my mental issue, I was mostly thinking about how right he was anyway. So, I'm embracing reality and perhaps eventually thinking that things don't need to be quite so romanticised and perfected to still be astonishing. Or if astonishing is too far a call, at least to just be, you know, nice. There's plenty of that going around – even if the packaging of such niceties isn't quite as wonderful.

Oh my, I just taught myself life lessons. Mother would be proud.

Keep on dancing.