Why lyrics? Why words?
Yes... good point.
Of course there are (at least) two views for every question/issue. One of my favourite band's opinion was that there are "three sides to every story" but for now, I will leave the third (and subsequent views) for you to add. Here go two of my own.
ONE: Yes, we all are purely incompetents... our music should be enough for everyone to get the clearest image of what we're saying, implying or addressing at each moment, with each chord, harmony note or sound (even silence means something). But, incompetents as we are, we really have to add some words to make our points of view clear. And, despite all this, I bet that there is enough fog in every silable we utter.
TWO: No... music is not only about instrumental combinations of sounds. A voice is clearly an instrument and a word can be as controversial as a C#aug5 chord in a love song. A word carries a unique meaning and contextual value within it (sorry for the cheap cliche') and it clearly depends on who's reading or listening.
Ultimately, we're void once the first sound is heard. In fact, although our music and words are written with a precise intention, it's impossible to capture what it meant to each and every person who read/heard. And there's a sublime feeling to this: being nothing at first, our letters, words and little black dots may eventually mean something to someone... other than us five.
"And do you remember
The blackest moment
Those blackest thoughts that rush
And do you remember
When too much time
When too much time was mine
Ohh - these days
Ohh - they're all mine
And do you recall
When you walk
Talk to yourself
In the street
In your autumn, In your winter
In your wintertime - Time
And do you recall
When you fall
I can't help notice
No light in our eyes
In our eyes
I give you my armour
I give you my glory
I give what's truly mine
And if you want
"Give me" (oooh) heaven
Because heaven should be mine"
- Love And Rockets, in "The Light", 1987.
Well, today was the first day I listened to this song... I probably had heard a few times before, but it didn't catch my ear. Today, some eighteen years after it was released.
Am I making a point here?
blogsted by Hugo Salvado at 3:45 pm ( view entire post)
3 Comments:
Dreamt about this last night. A less known guy. A less known habitat. A common feeling of displacement and unfareness (not as strong as injustice) when aiming for something with nothing more than some skill and great will.
Sorry, it's just raw.
"Silence broken by the rain
No words, just sounds
And then, some silence again
Wondering where he's bound
He is always on his own
But never alone, his crew is there
Now, never feeling at home
He grins about losing some hair
The sea and land just blend
There are no real boundaries
The road ahead is a friend
Unlike the rest he sees
What happened then?
Why is he there now?
He asked that himself...
Who didn't want him well...
Althought this is no misery, no hell...
What's left to show? Nothing.
Who's to know?...
Who knows what for?...
Jacques... seulement...
Jacques encore."
- Hyug Badox, in "Jacques Encore", yesternight.
Not much of a genius thing.
Not that much of an inspiration either. However, it felt strangely well waking up with an idea, a clear one, along with some french words already clinging.
Mmmm... Do I really have to write in English? Not that I'm bothered with that, anyway...
Let's not think too much. It's as simple as this word game.
V-I-R-U-S IS. Or... V-I-R-U-S R (are). Even better... V-I-R-U-S R-US (are us).
Zooming in... V-I-R-U-S exists and IS ready to attack. Also, V-I-R-U-S exist and ARE getting less interested in antidotes. Ant dots. Finally, V-I-R-U-S are us, they are us. The play is their own, but they play what we are. E esta, hein?
Et Jacques poursuit:
"C'est comme ça depuis que le monde tourne
Y a rien à faire pour y changer
C'est comme ça depuis que le monde tourne
Et il vaut mieux ne pas y toucher."
(Jacques Brel, "C'est Comme Ça", 1955)
Levez-vous, allons-y!
I had to corrupt Andre's words the moment I heard them. He wrote them in portuguese. I had to change them. Ok, ok... my fault. But you know me.
Here goes...
"You might run, and I’d find you
You might say I’m no good (for you)
You will scream, I will care not
The proof I wanted, I got
You know you can sense me coming near
And I know how it is when I’m not near
Knowing you’re asking, as this moment slips
One more kiss, left in my lips
It’s more than a day, when I leave, breathless
It’s more than a feeling, as I’m left speechless
It’s more than (what) I say, all is yet to be
It’s more than life itself, everything to me
Now I’m back to being myself once more
(I) don’t know why, but it is new for sure
I awake for this life, postponed from long
A step back in time, not knowing where to belong
(With) each word uttered, another ending comes
Nothing changes, nothing adds to my words
And this day, bound to end this way
The proof I wanted is here, I say
It’s more than anything I could say
Few words, but more to be made
More than all, all I can see in me
One more day, you’ll see me here
You might run, and I would find you
You might say I’m no good (…and it’s true)
You will scream, I will care not
The proof I needed, I got"
- Hyug Badox, in "More Than Life Itself".
Let's see what happens next.
Can't wait for the next rehersal.
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