George Elliot, that woman who wrote with a man's pseudonym, had said: "I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music."
Profound.
Let's admit it: I am a cynic. Especially when it comes to quotable quotes and pompous words. Expressions that, to me, look and sound insincere.
My approach, as a layman, to much of music is tempered with the same cynicism. Or, skepticism. Much of what I hear doesn't sound like worth hearing.
And then there is music. Music that cuts through the clutter, wipes away the rust, and touches, no, hits the soul. Music. Incendiary. Transformational. Searching.
Good jazz does that. As does classical. Some rock - bluesy stuff. Much of the other stuff leave me cold. My failure, no doubt. After all, if billions love 'MJ' and I don't, it's obviously my shortcoming!
Nevermind.
I will admit here that I have no formal training in music. None. Zilch. I can't play an instrument to save my bottom. I bray like an agitated donkey if inspired (or threatened) to sing.
So, without any credentials, I intend to mull over music. Will stick to jazz for most of the time. Afterall, the form of free music should allow me some free expression. I know its the hard stuff, apparently, but will still go ahead with it. Armed with only ears, and time and interest to listen.
I don't expect to be correct. Please correct me if I become too correct. This blog is supposed to be honest and straightforward. If I don't like Eric Dolphy, I can say it here. Nevermind the critics, and raised geriatric eye-brows.
So, here goes.
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