from way back....
"I seem to remember, while holding my guitar and trying to write this fucking song, a time a few years back, when I was at an earlier party of mine. I remember standing outside this one room, on my own while everyone else went somewhere else for a bit, sort of this brief moment to myself with nothing but a drink in my hand. A cooler, I think, back in the days when I drank coolers. real 'Girl Drinks'. anyway, I was standing there, just taking a moment, 'cause I was pretty drunk, and stoned, and I was just listening to this band downstairs. everyone had been fucking around all night on their instruments, just going at it like... something. and then, the guy who was holding this party, a guy I had known for a few years and had, quite pathetically, fallen head over heels for in respect, he came out of this room. I think it was his bedroom, but either way, it was just the two of us.
Now, I have to tell you, I was IN LOVE with this guy. I admired him for everything he did musically, the things he would talk about for hours while no one seemed to soak it in, I agreed with it, because at the time I was into that shit. And, I suppose you could say that he really had opened my eyes to music. he got me into it when I first met him, he made me fall in love with the sound of a guitar all over again, he made me see that there was more than the radio would ever offer in those days. He showed me the underground world of drugs. he turned me around.
So, he comes out of his room. know what he does? he ushers me into his room, and he tells me he thinks I'm beautiful. and I listen to him, taking sips from my drink, trying to be casual about it, because this fatuation of mine is a secret, see? I stand there, but my head is trying to peel itself off of the wall behind me. and while it's doing that, while hes talking about the first time he thought I was beautiful, My head is already far from tonight, a few weeks from now, when he's confessing his dying love for me, when we spend a romantic night in this very room.
and when he askes me if he's making me uncomfortable, I say 'Nah, no'.
I think, in that moment, I realized how hopeless I was, as a musician, as an artist, and a Drug User.
So now, I'm holding this instrument in my hand, trying to be him. I'm trying to feel the modes, scales, all those notes flow through my fingertips to make this profound music, to express what I felt that night in his room when he told me that simple, casual remark that probably everyone of my girlfriends have heard from him, just as casually. Buddy to Buddy. and my point of making this 'Music' is to try and mimick that emotion I got from him saying those words.
And i realize, just like I did that night, how hopeless I am in even bothering to try. The only music that will ever get to me the way it did on that night, would be the music he makes. and the only music that will ever transfer that very emotion to someone else, is music that I will never be able to harness. It's not in the stars for me."
Seems to me, remembering can and can't be a good thing. look at it now...
Now, I have to tell you, I was IN LOVE with this guy. I admired him for everything he did musically, the things he would talk about for hours while no one seemed to soak it in, I agreed with it, because at the time I was into that shit. And, I suppose you could say that he really had opened my eyes to music. he got me into it when I first met him, he made me fall in love with the sound of a guitar all over again, he made me see that there was more than the radio would ever offer in those days. He showed me the underground world of drugs. he turned me around.
So, he comes out of his room. know what he does? he ushers me into his room, and he tells me he thinks I'm beautiful. and I listen to him, taking sips from my drink, trying to be casual about it, because this fatuation of mine is a secret, see? I stand there, but my head is trying to peel itself off of the wall behind me. and while it's doing that, while hes talking about the first time he thought I was beautiful, My head is already far from tonight, a few weeks from now, when he's confessing his dying love for me, when we spend a romantic night in this very room.
and when he askes me if he's making me uncomfortable, I say 'Nah, no'.
I think, in that moment, I realized how hopeless I was, as a musician, as an artist, and a Drug User.
So now, I'm holding this instrument in my hand, trying to be him. I'm trying to feel the modes, scales, all those notes flow through my fingertips to make this profound music, to express what I felt that night in his room when he told me that simple, casual remark that probably everyone of my girlfriends have heard from him, just as casually. Buddy to Buddy. and my point of making this 'Music' is to try and mimick that emotion I got from him saying those words.
And i realize, just like I did that night, how hopeless I am in even bothering to try. The only music that will ever get to me the way it did on that night, would be the music he makes. and the only music that will ever transfer that very emotion to someone else, is music that I will never be able to harness. It's not in the stars for me."
Seems to me, remembering can and can't be a good thing. look at it now...
prematurely released by Norah at 8:47 PM
1 Comments:
I know how that feels... the musical impotence. Like trying to swallow in reverse. Like it's in your chest and it won't come out your throat because you don't know what muscle to sqeeze. It's tough.
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