Music it's a distillate of pure emotion, and thats what it's supposed to be, no matter what type of music it is, it's almost unavoidable that at times, it gets tangled up with tragedy.
I personally think that music is the disembodied sound reconstruction of life. I'll explain this better: people, humans, try to put their lives and minds in a concrete form, so it becomes everlasting. They takje their emotion and give thema from that can be given to others. Or be sold, used to entertain, communicate the same emotions to others, communicate. Whatever the case is, music is the universal form of transcription of thoughts, emotions and unspeakable pulses of the mind and soul. So in its wholw, it is some sort of gigantic web of interweaving stories and jpiurnals that influence each other and tell about people and their lives much more than any newspaper, book, or picture will ever be able to do.
The death of an Amy Winehouse might leave ME cold when i hear about it, because to me her songs were somehow a meaningless spound that i didnt connect with. But for another person, this artists dying and ceasaing to create her music, is a tragedy. When our weavers die, the parts of us that were connected to them through songs, the moments in our lives that had their music and their emotions as a soundtrack, die with them. Or become something diofferent, they transfigure like a bug to a butterfly.
You might not realize this right away but it's evident if you think about it.
Or viceversa. I used to remember with a special place in my heart the beautiful show that Dave Gilmour èplayed in Milan: three hours of pure maniplations of the soul throiugh sounds. I remember putting an arm of my friend, who was sharing the moment with me and feeling like we were creating a special bond.
The same friend went with me at the Roadburn Festival, a dutch three days of rock and muscial experimentation. I 've seen and expoerienced music there as i've never did with anyone else. We had our ups and downs but we had that magic anjd the music that came with it. Listening to the bootleg recordings of those days still makes my heart ache.
Now my friend is ill and might disappear. The memories and the music have a whole different shape. Its the aural version of those memories and of ourselves in those days. Before age, before drama, before illness.
A musician takes a part of his heart and makes it become a series of songs. Puts them on some support. Thpose songs somehow enter your life. You might be a fan of those songs, they substain you in the hard times, enhance the great times and make them memorable. Or those song might simply have entered your life cause they were on the radio, everywhere. Think about it. Think of the memories. There was always music with them. It was a part of the memory.
So then the artist dies. By drugs by accident or by anything. Something will change forever. Those mem,ories will have a different taste now. It will be a Tragedy of its own.
Some love stories with music even start with the tragedy. Maybe the tragedy was part of thew love right from the very beginning. Like Nick Drake. Who can Listen to “Pink Moon”, without thinking how the whole album is a manh baring his soul in a room a bit before taking his own life.
And if people die, there's music that keeps waht they were or what part of your history they created, eternal and shapeless. It's a flow of memories and feelings that is always there, made bvy us, for us.
How much closer to beauty can you get?
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