Dear Diary,

Back on the block, my man Longshot used to say something that puzzled me. He'd say, "Music is a weapon, bro', the weapon of the future."

Being a naive hippy-punk-country boy, I didn't get it. To my way of thinking, music was just a diversion, a frivolity, an enhancer of enjoyment and an emotional mnemonic. If it's got a good beat and it's easy to dance to, it's alright by me. What's all this stuff about weaponry? Leave that to the haters.

An epiphany washed over me one fine, lazy day as I strummed an Epiphone (really): What's the best weapon against the haters? Hate? No. It's love. What's the most powerful and enduring way to mass mail love? A song beats a love letter every time; it lends itself to adaptation and flatters the dearly intended when it rocks other people. How do you think Buddy Holly's real-life "Peggy Sue" felt when the song became a hit? If she's still alive, I bet she still feels something powerful when she hears the song.

The only way to make love to 10,000 people simultaneously is through music, but music also represents the ultimate private experience. Songwriting can be collaborative, but it usually happens behind closed doors. Musicians "feel" each other through music in a way that non-musicians simply can't understand. That same magic moves audiences, but you really don't need an audience to enjoy making music.

What is that strange communication that happens between musicians and filters out to audiences? It probably has some scientific, mathematical explanation, but if it does, nobody has described or explained it. I'm sure a neuroscientist could look at the way a song lights up the brain, but so what? Nobody will ever be able to explain why one performer of limited talent can rock so hard (Elvis, Bono, Jerry Garcia -- and don't get me wrong, I love and respect all of them) while somebody with gobs of talent attracts only a niche following (Pat Metheny). Sure, you could say people like simplistic music because it's easier to digest, but Pat Metheny could not pull off "Love Me Tender," "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" or "Sugaree" like unto the respective aforementioned performers of limited talent (not to take anything away from Pat Metheny's own incredible magic). At some point, the musician -- or at least the rocker in any genre -- is a shaman.

Classical musicians tend to have their own magic trained out of them, but that's OK because their job is actually to channel the incredible mojo of Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach. (No, I'm not a fan of most contemporary symphonic composition. The genre has already been done and overdone. But I love to see Mozart performed well.) There's no room for error when you're trying to duplicate genius like that. Classical musicians are amazing, and the ones who deign to let their hair down a bit can astound beyond words.

What does any of that have to do with music being a weapon? Everything, if you stop to think about it. A hundred years from now, nobody will give a shit what Bush or any of the world's power brokers have to say, but people will still play and listen to Elvis songs. By then, all the great high-falutin' debates of our time will be settled -- people will know it was a horrible idea to mow down the mountains to get coal to run the Internet, especially when there's so much more energy to be had in the sun and the wind -- but they will still argue over interpretations of Bob Dylan's "Desolation Row." The only reason that poem will outlast other great poetry of our time (and there's plenty of it) is that it happens to have been made into a song, and songs move people.

What could possibly be more powerful than a magic wand that extends into the future?

Musicians: Don't point that thing in my direction unless it's loaded with love.