Today, we take a break from our normal caloric mediation to reflect on a life well lived.

In his day, that Shakespeare composed some memorable quotes, many have which have become as rote as the lyrics to “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

One of Shake’s oft-repeated lines, from “Twelfth Night,” is when Duke Orsino says: “If music be the food of love, play on!” I added the exclamation point because, in the play, the Duke is just getting warmed up. He uses a transitional semicolon instead of the exclamation point that would serve the sentiment well and, instead, blasts on and on, using words like “surfeiting” and “abatement” and “receiveth.” But he’s Shakespeare.

Now, it could be suggested that the original quote works just as well in another context if you change it slightly to where it says: “If music be the music of love, play on!”

“What?” you say. “But … that’s stupid. It’s repetitive and it makes no sense! You’d just say, ‘love is music.’”

Well, I cheerfully admit to being stupid, so I’m here to say that “If music be the music of love, play on!” DOES make sense — at least if you’re a Music Head.

I listen to music almost constantly, at least when it’s possible to do so and still carry on as a human being in social situations. As I type this, in fact, I’m listing to “Sea Song” by Pat Metheny from his “Watercolors” album. It’s a tune I could listen to over and over for hours. Sometimes, I do. And I could say the same about hundreds of songs or albums I’ve loved over the decades.

You either get that sort of passion (or madness), or you don’t. No right or wrong answer. But if you do understand, then you’re the type of person I call a Music Head, and chances are you’re listening to or possibly making music right now.

We lost two amazing local Music Heads in the last seven days.

As I wrote in The Day last week, Charlie Holland, who led the wonderful Charlie Holland Band for over a half-century, died.

Then, on Tuesday morning, Vic Elci, a gifted pianist/trumpeter who for years ran the Vic Elci Orchestra, a locally popular and accomplished big band act, passed at 89. He’d been in failing health for a while.

I knew Vic a bit; his sons Lee and Steve are good friends of mine, and I saw and wrote about the Vic Elci Orchestra occasionally. Vic was a good man with a big laugh and, yes, he was a Music Head.

In recent years, after his health prohibited playing much, I’d occasionally see him in Stop & Shop and we’d chat. I’d drop the name of some relatively obscure big band musician or another. I wasn’t showing off, or maybe I WAS — at least in the context that I wanted Vic to know I was familiar with music he played and loved. I could never stump him. It was foolish on my part, like a beer league softballer trying to strike out Barry Bonds. But it was fun.

I have a favorite Vic Elci memory. In 2004, Lee Elci, a talk radio host who at the time was DJing for a rock station, and I organized a greyhound rescue event at the now-defunct Stash’s on Pequot. The owner, Graham Thompson, another dog and music enthusiast, hosted, and the Vic Elci Orchestra — Vic was an animal lover, too — played for what turned out to be a very successful gathering resulting in some greyhounds finding new homes. The hounds also heard some fine big band music.

I also came away with a maroon Vic Elci Orchestra golf shirt. I still have it somewhere though, thanks to large infusions of ice cream over the years, I can no longer fit in it.

Recently, Vic suffered a serious fall and was in the hospital. Monday night, I texted Lee, who was seated by his father’s side, to ask how things were going. “Not well,” Lee said.

Still hoping Vic would rally, I wrote, “Well, give him our best and tell him Bix Beiderbecke says hello.” Beiderbecke was a hugely gifted cornetist and pianist in the 1920s whose skills weren’t appreciated for many years.

Lee’s responding text was solemn. “Sadly, Dad doesn’t really respond anymore.”

Vic passed a few hours later.

There are many things to reflect on in this melancholy moment, but I don’t have to wonder whether Vic dug Bix Beiderbecke. Of course he did.

Vic was a Music Head.