What we do

I'm listening to the rain. It trickles down the side of the adjacent brick surfaces. They aren't walls to me, just opaque places where we do not go. The in betweens. I hear no soft patter, the ceilings are thick. I suppose the 5 apartments between my head and the roof don't help either.

"let the night surround you, half way to the stars, ebb and flow, let it go... feel the warmth beside you"

David Gilmour plays and I listen. His music - like his former Floydian exploration - does not ask for attention, it simply takes it. A magicians touch I suppose. Dave Mathews once said of Radiohead that they were the kind of band that makes you, as a musician, want to put down your instrument in defeat. I always took this to mean Radiohead's greatness was so incredible that they sucked the creative energy from those who listened, as if that energy itself was absorbed in the listening process - in the contemplation. David Gilmour's material has that same presence, but on a subtler line. At moments, I become a romantic - others, a quiet stone, untouched by the ages. Alienation and misgiving mixes well with the hovering moods and passionate sway.

"would this do, to make it alright, while sleep has taken you right out of sight. I'll make my getaway, time on my own, search for a better way to find my way home to your smile."

The song, aptly titled "smile", doesn't try to brighten your day. It just lets you know what it's like. I feel perhaps an allusion to love's trial and error is also prevalent, but alas, my opinion is derived from my first real listen and minds change almost as often as hearts do. The soft suggestion of contentment - when put before you - is like a soulful alarm clock. The cutting beep being replaced by softly plucked slide guitar and acoustic melody. Wake up, the sky isn't as grey as it once was. Pluck, pluck, pluck... I end up with a mixed emotional lip twist...

I am reminded of the passion I once drank from viles. The fine liqour of satisfaction, derived from constant hammering and twisting. The metaphorical blacksmiths hammer. My true affliction bleeds out onto paper. Drawn between the world of success and need. The need to create music that I don't know I can make vs. the ability to write music that has already found success. What is more important? Looking back on the greatness achieved through one's explorations or the confidence in knowing that the future will be bright and chalk full of prosperous regularity? I am starting to envision regularity. A regularity in change, the way we can always expect the unexpected. The unexpected will always be there, whether or not we want it to be or not. Always and forever. Let's boogy!