Friday, 17 April 2015

How Long Ago?

It could have been years but in reality it is only a few months since I’ve last commanded the software notation, get a new sheet and pour my song out.

This knowledge crept up on me in the early morning hours and suddenly confronted me so severely, I felt as a piece of soft clay, molded to the truth of my whole being and I listened.

Who am I? I know that my first purpose is to answer and serve  - I humbly receive my tasks and fulfill them, not just immediately, I also plan each step I have to take for some are quite challenging and trying the last bit of intelligence and logics which is after all, another duty to enrich my field of thinking.

The past months were as normal as any time in my life, serving the purpose that each duty requires. Normal daily routine the human is subjected to for basic maintenance of a body and environment and whatever branches further.

I am an old tree, many branches, many responsibilities. Thankfully I do not see responsibilities as most people, it’s rather a pleasure to care for that which is dependent on my input. At the end of the day I and all those affected of the (my) day and investment for future, can retire. Tired, but happy. Cared for.

(to care where it is required is often a care for myself, I learned)

So I ask: Where does my song fit in?

No. Song does not ‘fit in’. It is there all the time, like a sponge, absorbing my each moment, formulating it into the language I know best to speak it when time is right.

I suddenly realize that besides using this magnificent language to ‘paint’ pretty pictures for the ear, the main purpose of it is to speak what is deepest inside me.

There are many pieces that came in script already, but most are processing inside me amongst a very big noise.

It is the noise that is being filtered into segments and filed under various heads. (I cannot call it topics, for each topic is but a single book of the segments of my life – topics are the parts that make up this book. Same as movements in a symphony. Something like that.)

So then, when last? Yeah, I’ve forgotten when last but I know that that which is matter for the human senses happens when all is in place, ready to be understood by those who have senses, whether able to listen and to hear, look and see and such.

I have experienced this all the time. Over five decades came rushing when I found the valve and even is there still so much to pour out. (Most are probably pleasurable paintings of sound, I don’t know - but those are not as urgent as that which will force out before them.)

I’ve learned already, experienced the path in my second Symphony. Although that one happened in hardly more than a month about a year ago, much, much more sneaked in between during that time, memories of long, long ago. And it also formed the base for actualities during those days.

Although I composed eleven movements in just over thirty days then, I also composed old memories and new experiences during that time.

In a way I hope to not ever experience such an urgent fever again. I was so tired, hardly rested. Whatever spare time I had, I was composing. Coffee or tea on the side and sometimes a snack. I’d even nip off some sleep just because that music would wake me up so loud as if a big orchestra was playing it. Vivid dreams of working, I woke up dead tired at times.

Whatever lies ahead is something I don’t know. The ‘how long ago’ is but a short time but it is a great noise falling into place faster and faster.

The duty I have to finalize first is for my Papa, his voice which, by some weird deal, is being ignored. Papa is also part of my music and I know that he shall triumph. It is my responsibility to show the way Papa wanted and it shall all in all pave the way for others.

So then, my duty is to answer and serve the purpose and the final pieces will fall into place.

(A parallel of the case I took for Papa will be published elsewhere. Some do know and studied everything and if one can consider it all as a jury of the world – one will know that it is out of my hands. Truth cannot be destroyed and each being in this world needs truth. Even the guilty in order for them to rectify their wrong, make it good again.)

How long ago I composed? I checked and saw that amidst all the rubble, there are quite a few I did. I didn’t even realize I finalized a few already.

When will I compose again? Well, everything is formulating as I mentioned, and I must admit that I am a bit anxious (okay, scared like nothing you can imagine) that it all will come as a full surge.

Music does come as a surge to me when it’s ready to be spoken. Yet, I am concerned that I needed to suppress quite a bit due to duties and that it is going to become so overwhelming again.

I’m a tad stressed about it all. So, I am trying to focus on the pleasures I had when I finalized a piece before and will use it to kick myself.

And I hope to remember the bit I researched (studied) about music so that it can go quick.

(what I learned in the meanwhile about notation and gizmos and stuff, I’ve applied to most compositions already in order for my little people in their digital orchestra to play a bit better, the way I know it should sound. This means that I’ll eventually, when I can afford it, pull off all old releases to replace it with new editions which sound so much nicer and more to how I hear my music)

(I miss Papa. He would have loved this and be with me all the way. He loved music. But surely, he also knew that I was there for him always and even now while his voice is still in this world, unheard. His human rights are most important to me.)

Sunday, 4 January 2015

How I hear Music

A dear friend shared this sweet ♫picture quote♫ from Shakespeare:

at my Facebook page, saying it reminded her of me.

That is true how I am, I listen and hear. I replied to her immediately as it flowed out of me:

this is so true how I LISTEN, was watching some footage this morning of video (sic) I took two days ago of my very early morning and got so carried away with the birds in flight on a rhythm of the last crickets singing (sic – should have been ‘crickets singing their last songs of the night) and the greetings of the morning songsters as they sing their songs which flowed on the skyline as the first colour of the new day began and later the sparrows chipped in as warm music floated on colours between gold and soft pink as the first sunrays reflected on white to grey-blue clouds. And the crisp smell of night air blending with early morning perfumes as the first flowers open their sweet little wells..... bliss, totally music (even the screeching sunbeetles at the moment which gives that 'time for siesta' laziness) Oh, I can really drift away (when I read her post it was around noon, I cannot remember exactly)

I then treated myself with a chilled fruity white wine spritzer (actually, I use pure aqua, not the bubbly type for this) and dreamed on, so happy to know that there are folks who also hear how I hear, and recognize it in me. Nobody can teach you this, you just know it, feel it and you can hear it. Nobody can teach you this.

I have listened to many *educated* works in my nearly 6 decades in this world and it was empty, nyada, zilch, zero, haba, niks. Very few of the educated ever follow their hearts, to them it is rather a snooty prestige and goodness knows what labels they hang around music. They rape music, make it like a heartless machine forever needing to be fueled with some or other ooh and aah from even more heartless…..

Yet there are music educated folks, however few they are, that use music as the language it is intended to be. The technical stuff comes naturally. I know, I do my research and 'study' as I go. I have a curious mind.

I have been motivated by them (I also listen to their music, then I know that they know – maybe the journo in me that first wants to ‘profile’ the listener to first find out what they actually know and if their comment then qualifies what they say) - a scarce people.

RIP William Shakespeare, I love your works since I first ‘discovered’ it when I was a 13y-old. You could hear music, understood the voices even though you were a composer of words, yet you brought the music over with the alphabet. I HEAR YOU.

(I hope the bloomin pathetic that stole my full bundle of all Shakespeare’s works at Walvis Bay, Namibia during 1993 gets a pain in the arse – probably stole it to sell it to buy drugs. I KNOW - because of music)

And this reminds me of what I've seen in my life: the snooty shitty wanna-be's that will never be able to know the secrets of music, regardless of what and how far they study, and those who know it and follow their hearts.

I listen, and I hear and I've heard.