The Music Demon - Victoria Danann

Lyric’s Preface.

How old am I? You could not conceive.

I wasn’t ‘born’ in the way you think of it. Instead, I came to be at the first moment when variation of pitch was paired with rhythmic impulse. In other words, when music was born, I was born. I became conscious in my present physical form, that of an adult male humanoid; as if I had always existed and was simply waiting to be awakened. Not by a kiss. But by the sound of a musical note.

The happy accident did not occur in Loti Dimension. No. The first musical event in Loti was much later. They say fifty thousand years ago. But who’s counting?

There wasn’t much to do here until the Greeks added vocals to the lyre, flute, and cymbals. It took hundreds of years to develop a simple chord – two different, harmonizing notes played or sung at the same time. The pace started to pick up in the Renaissance, but everything was religion.


If you’re offended that a music demon could be bored, too bad. After living for more millennia than you could imagine, my life long ago settled into endless boredom interrupted by fleeting pricks of interest. Those events occur with tragic infrequency.

Wagner got my attention in the late nineteenth century with the Ring Series; four epic operas based on Norse mythology. If you’re a fan of Lord of the Rings, you understand the attraction.

Stopped by again in the 1920’s when Gershwin was experimenting with fusing jazz and classical. I had drinks with him at 21; a.k.a. Club 21 if you’re not a New York socialite, celebrity, or historian. He was depressed about a composition. Agonizing over it, actually. So I suggested he name it “Rhapsody in Blue” and moved on. He took my advice, as you probably know.

A few decades later I was passing through after an event called World War II. I always found that description odd because, certainly, the entire world was not at war. But back to my point. A decade after the war, things started to really get interesting in Loti dimension. Meaning the birth of rock and roll.

It was a mashup of jazz, rock, blues, bluegrass, and gospel that lit up culture for almost forty years before the dust settled on pop and stayed there. More than likely because of the influence of industry execs and bean counters, the greatest enemies of art.

Boring. Pop, I mean.

Hip hop? It’s an art form but calling it music is a stretch even for me. If you’re a devotee, tell it to my palm as they used to say in the eighties. You and the genre have met the end of both my attention and patience. I’d rather take a pass ride to a dimension where rock and roll is in its infancy. Or its prime. Or even last days.

Sure. All the expressions of music are like my children. I love them all and probably shouldn’t indulge in personal preference. But no music has ever, or will ever, suit a demon better than what they now call “classic” rock.

It’s one of my two passions. The other is recent, a human-turned-demon named Shivaun.

Okay, look. I don’t make mistakes often, but this was one of them. I took the wrong twin. I knew it the instant Sheridan said her sister’s name aloud and it reverberated through me like a perfect fit.


How, you say? They’re identical twins. As to the how, such things are life’s delicious mysteries. As to the identical. Au contraire. Identical twins only look identical. They are, in fact, complimentary opposites. Light and dark. One is cheerful and outgoing. The other is introspective and borderline morose.

Sheridan is yin to Shivaun’s yang. Let that arrogant Black Swan elf have the dark side. Real demons have an insatiable craving for light and we adore personalities with a default of good-natured optimism. Just like my Shivaun.

Right. I know. It may be premature to call her mine. But I’m practicing my own variation on optimism. Admittedly that may be easy for me to do since I can’t remember the last time I wanted something and didn’t get it.

Unless you want to talk about the promise that rock and roll would never die. For a fraction of a second in the grand scheme, it felt true. But it was just a burst of color in the dark. Like a match strike.

When you light a match in a room with gas in the air, there’s an almost inaudible pop followed by a beautiful thick flare