2 am musings

My state at 2 a.m. is blatantly not the best – my mind not the clearest, my fingers not the nimblest, my emotions not the stablest. Today’s piece is probably one of the most fragmented compositions I have ever made, but I’m not regretting it, at least not in this state of mind.

A close friend of mine is currently tangled in some emotional mess – relationships that weren’t meant to be, she said. His version of the story, of course, lamented the girl’s situation, showered her with compliments on the way with his sorrows. {Does it really matter who is who, or which gender pronoun is used in this? I pondered.}

{Does it really matter who is who, or which gender pronoun is used in this? I pondered.}

Would their love work regardless of the problems identified? Should practical concerns, like long distance, wacky Skype calls, periodic returns be of importance?

I certainly have no say nor the experience to say yes or no towards their decision to split – nor can I say for certain that the reason for splitting was an idiotic one. Afterall, who am I to judge?

She or he might meet up one day. On the streets. Under the casted shadows of the night. Probably he would be drunkenly stumbling. Maybe she would apologize and take a left to the caliginous space he never seemed to like. Maybe she would go pat him in the head again, just like old times. Maybe, maybe not. Who knows?

Hope is what he can grasp on tightly for now. Her hands enjoy the thorns of roses.



On Music

John Mayer 

I’ve always thought of myself as a versatile music-lover: I’m open and into all sorts of genres, obsessed with all types of singers/bands, and have memorized album after album of lyrics etc. No matter rock, rhythm and blues, metal or jazz, I would gladly mash them up in Mixxx (Poor chaps like me have no other alternative than using free software to create remixes in a amateur fashion), creating eccentric remixes while seeking for solutions to mediocre reverb effects (no shade to the software – it’s about the best you can find for free).

Many would ask: What would I appreciate/look for in a good piece of music? Would it be the level of handsomeness/beauty the singers possess? Would it be that hook that strums your heartstrings and stops your heartbeat? Would it be the rhythm that makes your head bob involuntarily. In my (very unprofessional, layman) opinion, what makes up a spectacular score is lyrics, and lyrics only.

Lyrics, in my humble opinion, are the soul of the piece of music: a iridescent moment, a split second, a message to be brought out. I believe this is exactly why cheap, cliched lyrics that (some) pop songs have completely dragged the melody and rhythm (no matter how great they are) into the mud without care. It’s no use shoving the same old ‘on my knees’ phrases into sad romantic ballads, nor is it of any good to showcase your battered relationships and threading them into albums (yes, I’m talking about Taylor Swift). Now don’t get me wrong – I don’t think it’s an issue if an artist chooses to express him/herself via lyrics, but if you’re just manipulating the month-old relationship and spinning it off to first, play victim; second, being vindictive to past lovers who did her/him no wrong on purpose; third, garner more attention for your monetary interests (aka using gimmicks to attain album sales). Truth be told, some of her lyrics are up to par and decent in the past decade to teenagers – for sure, it makes sense and paints a dainty picture of how much wreckage relationships could be. However, when you steer clear of the all-too-trashy lyrics that drone on and on about sappy romantic endeavors (that most of us won’t understand anyways) or some silly public feud that we can relate to but not hum to – you get gems like John Mayer, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, so on and so forth. Ranging from melodramatic and poetic lines from my all-time favorite artist John Mayer,  Until there’s fog inside the glass around your summer heart ‘‘Sometimes, I wish that I was the weather
you’d bring me up in conversation forever. And when it rained, I’d be the talk of the day’,
to the blood rushing lines that Fall Out Boy had, ‘It’s just past 8 and I’m feeling young and reckless. The ribbon on my wrist says, “Do not open before Christmas.” 

Sometimes I feel like if we could really envelop ourselves in quality music, to immerse ourselves in the glory of intricate writing, to bask ourselves in the Sunday shine where music flows endlessly in streams.