So I’m sitting in my living room, wondering why I make music.
The beauty of wandering mentally while you’re sitting in front of an empty google search box is, you can plug in and see what comes up.
Here’s what came up: Flavorwire’s take on it: 20 Brilliant Musicians on Why They Make Music.
Here’s my take, after reading theirs:
Some days, my heart beats fast but my mind is slow and all I want to do is jump out of my skin.
Other days, I can sit quietly for hours, rummaging for chords like an old beggar scrounging in his pocket for a quarter.
If I let my heart open, and my head clear, I can see my nerve endings trembling under my skin and I know there’s a song aching to get out. If I open my mouth naively, innocently, without thought, the words will come, and I’ll scribble what strikes me as meaningful, chased by notes plucked on the guitar.
It can only be done when nobody’s looking.
It can only be done after dark. Or before sunrise. In the in-between times of life.
It can only be done once, except that every new wish that oozes out in the form of a melody begins again, turning itself inside out, like an acrobat playing tricks, as if for the first time, as if there’s an audience who cares, who hasn’t gotten up and left the building.
Music makes me, no two ways about it.