music

There was that sound again--snap, then a footfall. She tried to whirl around as a dark form--Dear God--sprang with a splash from the darkness--grabbed her from behind, shoved her under the water.

She had her sonar continually set for excuses to entertain, to bring together influential and powerful people in a mix that hummed, sizzled, throbbed, and sometimes burst into flames. But I was delighted to be her excuse tonight.

It is sometimes said that the tragedy of an artist's life is that he cannot realize his ideal. But the true tragedy that dogs the steps of most artists is that they realize their ideal too absolutely. For, when the ideal is realized, it is robbed of its wonder and its mystery, and becomes simply a new starting point for an ideal that is other than itself. This is why music is the perfect type of art. Music can never reveal its ultimate secret.

The thing about music was that you never knew the shape of anyone__ desire.

We are Darwin__ confetti. Some of us fall on bare rock. No matter how good you are, you can fail spectacularly. Just because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or just because of some fatal flaw. Nothing to do with talent.

I had never killed myself before, so I had no idea what would I want to listen to when it was too late for me to skip to the next song. Like, maybe when you're dying, you actually want to hear something really upbeat.

Confidence don't mean jack shit in the real world, sis," she once said. I feel myself finding the courage to trust those words more and more with every twist of the knife. Coincidentally, last Tuesday afternoon I was involuntarily exposed to the punch line of an old wise tale that goes something like: "There's beauty that can be found in everything." But why can't the insensitive cunt who said that ever find the courage to look in the mirror? Because poopycock, one might say.

And it was sad music fit to make you cut your throat.

The danger of restorative nostalgia lies in its belief that the mutilated 'wholeness' of the body politic can be repaired. But the reflective nostalgic understands deep down that loss is irrecoverable: Time wounds all wholes. To exist in Time is to suffer through an endless exile, a successive severing from those precious few moments of feeling at home in the world. In pop terms, Morrissey is the supreme poet of reflective nostalgia.

It's time to forget about the past,__o wash away what happened last,__ide behind an empty face,_on't act too much, just say,_'Cause this is just a game.

No one can discover you until you do. Exploit your talents, skills and strengths and make the world sit up and take notice.

Once, somebody asked Robert Schumann to explain the meaning of a certain piece of music he had just played on the piano. What Robert Schumann did was sit back down at the piano and play the piece of music again.

That's the thing about music. You get to make it mean whatever you need it to mean.

God is love, and music is the language of love; therefore, music is the language of God. Music is a language more profound than words. How often have you heard a great piece of music and felt that? Great music does not just make you feel good; great music suggests some profound truth or mysterious meaning that is objectively true but not translatable into words.

When someone asks me what a song is about, it__ like, I feel like I might ruin it if you ask me that. I feel like I did my best to explain the song in the song on its own terms as a song.

Dance with your sacred rhythm.

Sometimes we focus on the lyrics too much and forget to dance to the music.

So long as the human spirit thrives on this planet, music in some living form will accompany and sustain it and give it expressive meaning.