Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
The Ballad of One Musikero
Leave...
Leave it all behind and set off to embrace a new life, of course. That’s what I’ve heard from the few band members who call it quits from their comrades and followers. They are tired from the same society that strangles the core of their being. Not that they hate the faction—they just hate of being...them. They hate not to be alone anymore because privacy was so hard to reach. The prying eyes that dictated every move in which in the end created an image they themselves could not fathom. They said musicians have to learn to crawl before they learn to walk, and when everything is in order the honour of music was no more and the puppet master will conduct a show, turned bands into corporate bitches and whore them for the sake of money.
The truth of it, it’s not the love of music anymore, people don’t care about that anymore, it’s all about currency. And when this empowered the novice musicians, they will be blind and things will start all over again. And it doesn’t stop there. A new breed of offspring will crawl up from nowhere and start to form a band, the thought a group of four boys and one girl will be enough to make real music—which mostly don’t know what diminish was and power chords as the center of aim—to hazard our ears just to prove they are lack seeing the difference between harmony and noise. One side; fame and fortune, the other; a poser and a noise maker. Which one you’ll choose? Neither. Does anyone know how to play real music anymore without harmful defects? Am I the only one who seeing this? It may sound brutal but it’s the truth. And the truth shits us all.
I don’t see real musicians now; they disbanded or died long ago. They died or separated long before we knew the real meaning of their lives. I understood them, because I was too in band for sixteen years. And those sixteen years took me a lot of reasoning why I intend to humble my life. I respect music, I listened to them. I desire to listen and play them with the knowledge I knew that I don’t have to show it off. I want to be nobody, nameless to the world of MTV’s and music channels and music companies. Fame is not for me to intake any longer. I don’t want to play music just to preserve my everyday life. Not for money. I don’t want to be a whore. Elders said music is an expression, words with tunes, to share and be shared back...just like love. Maybe that’s why I’m in the verge of ending my happy days of performing. I’m craving for a place where music was life.
I want to listen now, to others, without those eyes watching over me, telling me what to do, telling me what to feel, telling what to play. I have to say goodbye now, my agent is calling. I have to do this...media, for our last farewell.
Leave it all behind and set off to embrace a new life, of course. That’s what I’ve heard from the few band members who call it quits from their comrades and followers. They are tired from the same society that strangles the core of their being. Not that they hate the faction—they just hate of being...them. They hate not to be alone anymore because privacy was so hard to reach. The prying eyes that dictated every move in which in the end created an image they themselves could not fathom. They said musicians have to learn to crawl before they learn to walk, and when everything is in order the honour of music was no more and the puppet master will conduct a show, turned bands into corporate bitches and whore them for the sake of money.
The truth of it, it’s not the love of music anymore, people don’t care about that anymore, it’s all about currency. And when this empowered the novice musicians, they will be blind and things will start all over again. And it doesn’t stop there. A new breed of offspring will crawl up from nowhere and start to form a band, the thought a group of four boys and one girl will be enough to make real music—which mostly don’t know what diminish was and power chords as the center of aim—to hazard our ears just to prove they are lack seeing the difference between harmony and noise. One side; fame and fortune, the other; a poser and a noise maker. Which one you’ll choose? Neither. Does anyone know how to play real music anymore without harmful defects? Am I the only one who seeing this? It may sound brutal but it’s the truth. And the truth shits us all.
I don’t see real musicians now; they disbanded or died long ago. They died or separated long before we knew the real meaning of their lives. I understood them, because I was too in band for sixteen years. And those sixteen years took me a lot of reasoning why I intend to humble my life. I respect music, I listened to them. I desire to listen and play them with the knowledge I knew that I don’t have to show it off. I want to be nobody, nameless to the world of MTV’s and music channels and music companies. Fame is not for me to intake any longer. I don’t want to play music just to preserve my everyday life. Not for money. I don’t want to be a whore. Elders said music is an expression, words with tunes, to share and be shared back...just like love. Maybe that’s why I’m in the verge of ending my happy days of performing. I’m craving for a place where music was life.
I want to listen now, to others, without those eyes watching over me, telling me what to do, telling me what to feel, telling what to play. I have to say goodbye now, my agent is calling. I have to do this...media, for our last farewell.
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