If your sex life had a soundtrack, what would it be like? Foreplay by Enya, intercourse by The Crystal Method, and orgasm by John Williams? How about your driving habits — would the movie of your car navigation be Aerosmith, Lawrence Welk, or Flight of the Bumblebee? Does the crash of cymbals in your life indicate a major success or clumsy you going tits-up down a stairway?

If you’re anything like me, the sound of steel drums and bongos, instead of making me look cool in shades, dreads a-swingin’, and chilling out on a sunny beach, instead puts a bright spotlight above me with a neon sign that says, “White and GEEKY“. But, in reality, nobody has theme music. No one really has an orchestral cresendo when they lose their virginity. Life just simply doesn’t have a soundtrack.

So…where did they come from?

Have you ever thought about that? If I don’t naturally get a, “wha-wha-whaaaaa,” in the ear when I screw up, why do people get them in the movies? Oh, sure, I know that the music and sound effects adds to the emotion and drive of the film and gets people engaged in something that is, essentially, make-believe, but how did the first person that tried to emulate a sad situation pick out the muted trombone for the task? Would a tuba’s, “pa-bum, pa-bum” sound really sound like a fat man walking in a forest if you hadn’t heard it before?

I’m constantly fascinated by the sound effects and music that are picked to frost a motion picture. Sometimes the soundtrack is the main feature and you can tell that the power it has doesn’t even compare to the crappy acting and story behind it. Sometimes you are just aching to have someone bring in some orchestral support to a scene that seems dull and uninteresting without that support. And on the really good films, you don’t even notice it, because it fits together so perfectly that you are simply mesmerized.

Some soundtracks can continue to convey that emotion away from the movie itself and some sound completely and utterly idiotic without the supporting visual. Pirates of the Caribbean is a recording that I can listen to often without the movie, but while LOTR: The Fellowship of the Ring sounds fine without the movie, LOTR: The Two Towers does not and is really only for diehards like myself that don’t get out on weekends and prefer knowing how many decilitres are in a hogshead. (about 2,385 if you were curious)

The emotion can be powerful — people have been swept away by the soundtracks of such classics as E.T., Rent, Titanic, and Harry Potter to say nothing of the multitude of violins that gave their lives for horror flicks and shark movies. The right music and timing can recreate anger, happiness, tears, joy, and sorrow, all at the flick of a conducting wand and a few good sound technicians. And yet, I have yet to figure out exactly how they know that a crescendoing line will bring me out of my seat and to the heights of adulation when that has never, ever happened in my real life.

Despite this purposeful deception and misleading, we humans seem relatively happy to let ourselves bask in the glory of the soundtrack and all of its effects. We are eager to let ourselves go to the mystical places that cinema takes us; the soundtrack is just another train to far away places, situations beyond our dull, dreary existences, a ticket to a lovely fantasy. And we’re all aboard and ready to rock.

So, think about that this week as you go about your “usual” activities. What would a composer be working on for you right now? Would that stupid move you just did earn you a circus riff? Would opening the door in a towel for the UPS man get you an oboe twittering along? Hum along with it a little because, you never know — someone might be recording your life’s soundtrack.