After a week of forced introspection, I catch myself at home on a Friday night without the company of my kids. My husband is entertaining a few guests by inundating them with alcohol, which excuses me from the rather arduous task of making more small talk. I am, therefore, absolutely free for the moment–which is a rarety nowadays.
There is seldom anything good on TV on Friday nights, as the programmers probably expect most people to actually have a life worthy of the society pages. After a week of pleading work, and contemplating my heavy trial load on Monday, I am no mood to read either. A senseless historical romance novel would have been exceptionally welcome to sweep me off to never-never land, but I don’t have new ones at hand. Searching for old, forgotten books in dusty cabinets isn’t particularly appealing for the moment.
So I turn to music to heal and fill my soul. My playlist for the moment consists of Grey’s Anatomy songs from the Volumes 1 to 3 soundtracks and everything Coldplay. The most poignant songs from some relatively unknown indie bands competing for airtime on my speakers with the biggest band of the season.
True, Patrick Dempsey’s doleful eyes flash before me when I recall some Grey’s Anatomy scenes from the music. Admittedly, it does help cheer me up. 
But more than the McDreamy factor, the three Grey’s Anatomy soundtracks are like mix cds that give me that warm fuzzy feeling of home, belonging, comfort and the assurance that everything will be all right. You don’t hear most of the songs on the radio or see the bands emoting on MTV, which adds to the albums’ charm. Everything is transient and forgettable, but for the four minutes or so that each song is played, I feel much lighter and satisfied. Call it chicken soup music, if you want. Podworthy are City by Joe Purdy, Breathe In Breathe Out by Mat Kearney, and Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.
With the Coldplay albums, there is no forgetting that they are currently on top of the charts. Think Yellow, Fix You, Viva La Vida, to name a few. In typical big band fashion, scruffy English frontman Chris Martin is married to Gwyneth Paltrow (whom my daughter thinks is the real Barbie doll). But, despite their mainstream appeal, Coldplay’s songs have retained a certain anti-pop flavor, albeit of the truffle, caviar and lobster variety characteristic of a supersized alternative rock band. Nonetheless, I have to credit the band for having kept their zeal for dissidence and experimentation intact.
In shuffle mode, my Grey’s Anatomy soundtracks and Coldplay albums did make for a sizzling Friday night date. Uhmmm…hot tub?
