Someone was waving a large pink-and-white sign that read, "Don't Worry, Be Happy." I was trying, and so were at least thirty thousand other bodies, with varying degrees of post-Aquarian patience, to see the Who for the first time in a year.
I have my own particular sorrows, loves, delights; and you have yours. But sorrow, gladness, yearning, hope, love, belong to all of us, in all times and in all places. Music is the only means whereby we feel these emotions in their universality.
I express through my music my philosophy, my feelings, my passion, my dreams, my fears, my hopes, my wishes and my expectations. Without music, I would be mute, like a fish without water, like a bird without wings like a human being without air.
It's odd to spend your vacation with someone else's music especially when you're alone. You're free to let loose, unobserved, but someone else has chosen the words you belt out in private, the rythms you can dance to like a fool.
A choir is made up of many voices, including yours and mine. If one by one all go silent then all that will be left are the soloists.Don’t let a loud few determine the nature of the sound. It makes for poor harmony and diminishes the song.
New Rule: Stop calling bagpipes a musical instrument. They're actually a Scottish Breathalyzer test. You blow into one end, and if the sound that comes out the other end doesn't make you want to kill yourself--you're not drunk enough.
All this security and prospects are different for different people. Somebody is happy playing music and with a less pay, somebody is secure in the corporate world with a high pay with headache. We have individual tastes, tastes are not universal.
The key to becoming a proactive influence for music education is the development of a "dream list." It is more often referred to as a long-term plan. Do you know what you want your program to look like in the next five years? Ten years? Start now!
I don't care if it hurts, I'm tired of lies and all these games, I've reached a point in life, and no longer can I be this way, don't come crying to me, I too have shed my share of tears. I'm moving on, yes I'm grooving on.
Two birds locked inside a cage, we aren’t supposed to last,And I guess we both could blame it on our past.But I’m out of excuses if you’re done with pretending,I’m ready to start the story that doesn’t have an ending.
But that drummer – the one who could make his drum sound like water dropping into a bucket or like the footfalls of a giant or like rain scattering on a roof – he was the one to watch. He was the one who could make you forget yourself.
There was something about words and music together that allowed people to get nearest to honest truth about what was most difficult to say. Paradoxically, only through the essential instantaneity of music could you approach its eternal pertinence.
I could feel everything. From the tragic cellos, to the tender sounds of the piano giving awe to my touch. My body slowly swayed to the sweet feel of the air sweeping over me. I felt myself being taken away as the hearts of my fans soared with me.
I heard in my own voice the tulmult of a young man playig a role, uneasily, repackaging black R&B music from America, relying on gimmicky outfits, and pretending to be wild & free when in reality he needed to be looked after by his mother.
I close my eyes and try and shut him out. My fingers don’t want to stay in time. They want to race ahead in fury, plunging into the dense fog of black notes, pulling the music out by its roots, hurling it up out of the piano and into the air.
