Ode to music

LessThanZero

Ode to music

1

19/01/09 à 12:20

I don't know where to begin.
There are so many things to say about music, so many words echoing and so many lyrics, making me drown or lifting me up to the sky.
All I can say is, music is a reason for anything.
A reason for love, for anger, for peace, for crying, for laughing, for life.
Regina Spektor, Bon Iver, The Submarines, Sonic Youth, Adam Green, Brandi Carlile, Crystal Castles, MGMT, Right Away, Great Captain!
There's no lit to make, because there's so many words to say.
So many moments and memories that only music can fit.
Because when the sound of my voice finds itself useless, when there's nothing left to say but hush, music does it.
Music speaks for me.
It is so hard to describe the feeling that music can brings.
The Coral Sea, The Kills, Shady Bards, Lenka, Arcade Fire, Air, Sia.
When you feel like blowing yourself in, when you feel like crap.
It'll help you.
It'll make you feel nostalgic and blue, most of the time, but there's no feeling such as music.
It's barely understandable and not even explainable.
It's life, it's death, it's everything in between.
It's way more spiritual than people think.
It's like procrastination, except it's useful.
It's feeling every seconds of it.
Sometimes I hold my breath, uderwater, to make things clear, to sort them out, and I can hear music from out of the water and that's the only short moments I feel like living.
It's dancers between the face of death. It's a kindly fair enchanting the place and the touch of grace.
Japanther, The Hush Sound, Chris Garneau, The Slip, Jack's Mannequin.
It's everything in transit, it's Soviet Kitsch.
Music is a tie that binds.
A tie that binds you to everything at the same time.
It's Cat Power and Damien Rice, smoking a cigarette.
Belle & Sebastian, Death Cab for Cutie & Ray Lamontagne taking a cup of tea.
I don't know how random this is.
All I know is how Kate Nash makes her voice shivers when she sings "Nicest Thing".
All I know is I should stop talking and turning Iron & Wine on, because this, oh my brothers, is music.

There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon
Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms

There are things that drift away like our endless, numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believe in the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from their piles of fallen leaves

There are sailing ships that pass all our bodies in the grass
Springtime calls her children 'till she let's them go at last
And she's chosen where to be, though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar of Bougainvillea seeds

There are things we can't recall, blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls
But my hands remember hers, rolling 'round the shaded ferns
Naked arms, her secrets still like songs I'd never learned

There are names across the sea, only now I do believe
Sometimes, with the windows closed, she'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothes and they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone

Passing Afteroon - Iron & Wine.