How Music Draws Us Out of Ourselves

This week, I'm your far-flung correspondent, reporting from the island of 3:58 am. I'm indulging in a favorite bad habit, one I've stumbled in and out of most my adult life. A little before midnight, I crawled into bed and started listening to Patti Smith's Horses. Four hours and three Patti Smith albums later (plus some time spent reading and trying to will myself to sleep), I've moved back to my desk for a quick Google search that has turned into this column. Such are the undisciplined ways of this vice I've given much of my life over to, which I call bedtime listening.

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