Music is supposed to make you feel good.  It’s supposed to wrap you in a blanket, make you feel everything’s going to be all right.

I heard this Whiskeytown track on XM, "I Still Miss Someone".  Being country ignorant, I didn’t know it was written by Johnny Cash.  I needed to hear it again, to experience its honest folksiness.  It sounded like it was cut on the porch when no one was listening, when the singer was out there alone.

But I couldn’t find it on Limewire.  I found an alternative live take, but it didn’t evidence quite the same homespun quality.

And I forgot about it until today, when I was downloading from the blogs.  I needed Frankie Miller’s "Double Trouble", with "(I Can’t) Breakaway".  I found "Full House" and a greatest hits album, I marveled at his take on the song that Kim Carnes made famous, "When I’m Away From You", and while I checked out my new tunes, many of which I hadn’t heard since I spun the vinyl long ago, I continued to search online.  And that’s when I found the deluxe edition of Whiskeytown’s "Stranger’s Almanac".  With the additional CD containing this performance of "I Still Miss Someone".  And when all the tracks were downloaded, after I inserted the artwork, I let the album play.  And that’s when I discovered "Indian Gown".

I’ve got this two CD package somewhere in my house, or my garage.  I even like, no, love, some of Ryan Adams’ solo work.  But his identity, his personal train-wreck, has eclipsed his music.  His hit to shit ratio has gone haywire.  I check out everything he releases, but the public has moved on.  He’s another star who wasn’t.  Then I stumble on this.  Ten years after the fact.

This is what professionals will get you.  There’s a sound you just don’t get with the MySpace bands.  It’s like your speakers are a conduit to another world.  You can journey through the grille to where they’re playing and quietly sit down in front of the musicians and let the music waft over you, hover in the air, enveloping you in its warmth.

Hit singles, purveyed by stars as opposed to musicians, have eclipsed this sound for far too long.  If it doesn’t sell, it must not be good.  If it’s not brand new, if it can’t be featured in a gossip column, then it’s a loser.  But this bonus track off a stiff album resonates more than all the hits.  Because it evidences humanity.

Ever drive on a late winter afternoon in the snow?  As you crawl through town your whole life flashes through your brain.  The quiet sets your mind free.  But, what if a sound crept into that quietude, tapped you on the shoulder and started inspiring new thoughts.  Both happy and bittersweet.

Doesn’t matter that your loved one left you if the music is right.  The music agrees you played your hand correctly, that you did your best, even if it didn’t work out, and you’ll get a chance to play again.  The music helps you rebuild your life, in your mind.  You’re reminded of prior victories.  You know good times will come again.

This is why we listen to music.  Because the written word cannot convey this warmth, no movie.  They can render the images, but they cannot encase you in their cloak, make you warm and whisk you away.

We live in a go-go world.  We’re networked, we’re subjected to tweets.  But, despite technology, the human condition has not changed, ever.  We still feel alone.  No matter how many texts or how much e-mail we get.  How are we going to feel connected, a part of humanity.  Get through the lull?  By listening to music.