Languages are fascinating systems… Puzzles, really… With a language, one begins to think in concrete steps. Steps that can be transferred to another person, with more or less complete understanding. We can now begin to explore… ourselves and our environment. We can begin our quest for understanding, and truth. Without a language… well…
The art of Music is one of intimacy. Nothing more… nothing less… It is two or more people agreeing to bare their souls… to go where the Music would have them go, regardless of the space they might be individually inhabiting at the moment. Music is the willingness to open yourself to the vagaries of the unknown. It’s the exploration of humanity, by those who are willing to do their searching publicly. It’s the reaching into and touching of a place where only the rare few ever find their way. It is me… allowing you… in. I can count on one hand the people, including musicians, who’ve personally touched me there.
Why, you may ask, do I harp on and on about the subject of Music… The answer is simple. (And because the answer is so deceptively simple, I suspect the answer just might true.)
Music possesses only the pure perfection of fact – a fact rising in rhythms of sound. Rhythms which seem inhuman, because they’re essentially free from desire, fear and distress. Free from all the visions of glory, honor or the longing we impose upon music’s facade. Free from the emotional baggage, without which we cannot listen to any merely human music. For whatever remains when the merely human has been stripped from our arts, must be the essence of a communication from we know not where… with we know not what.
Just as there are wavelengths of light we cannot perceive unaided, so, too, are there tastes and smells beyond our capacity to comprehend. But what else is there, out there, that’s outside our poor limited senses? Touch?