Musicians and Muses

“So let the stars align, let the water make wine 'cause broken souls will become whole tonight...You know it's right. So lift your eyes and let me in, 'cause baby I’m an alien like you...” – Alien Like You, The Pigott Brothers

This beautiful song got me thinking...

Why are we so desperately enthralled with musicians?

Why is it that a man who can sing to me is more attractive than a man who can sink a puck or write a great presentation or run really fast? I know this isn’t just me; if it was, tacky t-shirt companies would never sell awful shirts that read, “I’m in a band. Show me your tits.” Jerry Hall would never have married Mick – seriously she’s a supermodel and his face looks like an 80-year-old pair of leather shoes. And awkward, pimply teenagers everywhere would stop trying to learn guitar and stick to Guitar Hero.

What is it about musicians that makes them so incredibly sexy, so irresistible, so... yum? Is it the rumours of sexual prowess? If his hands can do that to a guitar imagine what they could do to your body...

Its lovely isn’t it? But that’s not it – at least it isn’t all of it.  

Musicians are at their core very honest; they give us a part of themselves that we usually spend ages pulling out of other men and they do so freely. They write about their loves, their dreams, their fears; in one song we can have that epic all-night conversation that is so often the beginning of the very best of relationships.  

We fall in love with their bravado, their strength, their willingness to share everything about themselves and then you throw in that natural charisma – that stage presence – and can anyone blame us for worshiping at the alters of the rock Gods?

I have a friend, he was my kindergarten crush – and perhaps the beginning of my infatuation with gingers – and when he sings for me I feel like he’s singing about me. He’s not. But I feel like the mythical girl who inspires men to sing love songs, and darn is that ever a good feeling. He could have me in every way imaginable at that point. But it’s not the idea of sexual prowess or the gingery-ness of it all, it’s the feeling of being something so wonderful that you inspire someone else to create art.

So boys I’ve given it away – you want to know the key to my heart? Go ginger. OK I kid; some guys just can’t rock that and I may be the only woman who has a mad thing for gingers. Instead, go out and grab a guitar, polish up those vocal cords, and remind me that I’m inspiring, remind me that I’m beautiful enough, smart enough, wonderful enough to inspire a little bit of art.

And I know that isn’t just me.

Image courtesy stock.xchng.