“Music is a means of rapid transportation.”

“Music is a means of rapid transportation.”
Cage/Ramakrishnan

Brian Eno on the benefits of singing

“I believe that singing is the key to long life, a good figure, a stable temperament, increased intelligence, new friends, increased self-confidence, heightened sexual attractiveness, and a sense of humour.”
~ Brian Eno

From the article  ‘Freestyling’ in Resurgence Magazine
http://www.resurgence.org/magazine/article2548.html

“Love yourself, and make your instrument sing about it.”

“Think of it this way.” said Helmholtz.  “Our aim is to make the world more beautiful than it was when we came into it.  It can be done.  You can do it.”
A small cry of despair came from Jim Donnini.  It was meant to be private, but it pierced every ear with its poignancy.
“How?”, said Jim.
“Love yourself,” said Helmholtz, “and make your instrument sing about it.
A-one, a-two, a-three.” Down came his baton.

Kurt Vonnegut – ‘The Kid Nobody Could Handle’

Silver Salmon

Silver Salmon

O good song,
drop down my throat
into my heart of sound
and dangle my soul
over my dark vibrato.
Crack my armour,
melt my stones,
down in that dark heart
I’ll sing my way home.

I cough and I hack
what’s holding me back
then the air rushes into my lungs.
The bones in my back
go crickety-crack
then my guts they come unstrung.
When the rock in my crux
is wracked and wrung,
when the tremoling has begun,
then the knots in my soul come loose;
ropes running writhing,
swinging fists of pain,
striking and striking my heart bell again and again,
and then I’m ringing, I’m ringing, I’m ringing,
then I’m a black bell singing, singing, singing.

O good song
you breathe into
my whole body
whole.

O good song
you breathe me into
a clanging, knelling,
temple gong.

O good song:
your sounding dives down
to find the elusive silver salmon.
Find it with your singing,
find it with your ringing,
chase it down with your dark vibrato,
a bright silver flashing,
a shaft of light flick’ring,
a ripple, a glimpse of muscle
flexing in the deep.
No catching, no latching,
no holding, no grasping,
wily, slipperish, she must always run free.

O good song,
you brave dive down
soul hoping only to ride
the wild fish wild;
no reins, no bit, no bridle,
she’ll only let you ride her
if you give, if you give, if you give,
all of you,
all.

She is onely,
she is whole,
complete, unbroken,
and you own
only one thing to her worth heeding,
only one thing, maybe, she’s needing,
your pain, your fears,
your secret tears,
your terrors and taboos,
your screws come loose,
your trembling gashes
which are always bleeding.

She is onely;
ever unbroken, ever wild,
and the only way she’ll let you ride
is if you show her all you hide,
only let you know her name
if you display your most crippling shame.
She’ll let you near
if you expose your most dear fear.
You win by losing, pay out your victory dues,
Maybe you’ll succeed, seduce, if you offer up your wounds;
your scars, your cracks, your tears,
Your grooves’ll groove her.
Bare the throat of your being
and there, here, now she is,
wild and bare, loosed hair,
but don’t stare.
Nor even look.
‘Cause everything wild either freezes or flees before man’s rapacious glare;
snake’s alive,
she’ll eat your flesh, your bones,
turn you into stone.

O good song
breathe me into
my whole body
whole.

O good song
breathe me into
a clanging, knelling,
temple gong.

You wish only to ride
the wild fish wild
for then you know
your song sings true.
Only when you ride
the wild fish wild,
only when you ride
the wild fish free
will your song sing true.

“Nothing justifies our art other than to speak for those who cannot speak.”

“Nothing justifies our art other than to speak for those who cannot speak. This is the cause for which we dedicated our efforts, and the cause that endorsed our voices. We only wished to take it as far as we can, and vowed to release our work as songs of love for, and unity with, the victims of persecution everywhere.”

Marcel Khalifé

Use Music

“Use music when you are lonely, when you want to diffuse tension.
Don’t use music when you have nothing to say.”

Oliver Mtukudzi

O Great Ocean

Some months back i composed this piece of music, while Jim Loney was a captive in Iraq. Knowing Dan well, and feeling deeply for him, I wrote this out of the sense of longing that I experienced from being with him.

Now it seems some kind of miracle that Jim returned, and that he has, through a great inner strength, and through the strength of his own strong community, really fully integrated back into a very full life.

It took me some time to reach a point where, well, with the means at my disposal, I felt I did my best..

A tribute to Jim Loney and Dan Hunt:

 

http://www.nikbeeson.com/NikBeeson/sheddings-content/content/o-great-ocean.htm

[Read more…]

Bomb Shelter goes song

Most of religion is dedicated to creating a bomb shelter and calling it hope.
I’m gonna build me a bomb shelter and call it hope,
I’m gonna fix me a faith ’cause I need my dope,
I’m gonna climb right in when I’m at the end of my rope,
’cause I don’t want to fall
’cause I don’t want to fall
’cause I don’t want to fall…

[Read more…]

Window

There’s a window
out at the edge of everything
where the soul’s go
out and in,
and this is all just a bauble, a bubble, a puddle,
which we fight war’s over again and again.

There’s a window,
O dear brothers departed,
I see you all gazing in,
wondering why we become so defiant of love,
again and again.

There’s a window,
at either end of everything.
I’ve seen them go out and come in
and here we are wondering
thinking that
this is all that there is.

For some I know,
after all was said and done
it seemed the only way
through the wall
after all
this world’s a wall.

But there’s a window
out at the edge of everything
like lightning
like the tide coming in
we all fall down down
down to the ground, ground, ground…

There’s a window
out at the edge of everything;
in every room,
in every wall,
down every corridor
in every hall –

burst of bright birds from our finished bodies
through the window
to go home again, to go home again….

[Read more…]

Partch and Mingus

Each was able to “…combine precise ensemble work with a sense of bacchanalian abandon.”
Frannie Thumm on Harry Partch and Charlie Mingus

[Read more…]