The Sound & The Story

Once I heard a song. That piece of music is fascinating for multiple reasons. I could analyze it from diverse angles. I could illuminate the most intricate aspects that speak about its vibrancy. I could articulate in the most immaculate manner the components that make its idiom as crystal-clear as a stream roaming the mountain, sliding down the rocky embrace while being awashed with a gentle kiss of the fresh air holding them together like an invisible, soft-hearted giant. I like to think of the ways in which the articulateness of that audio sovereign could be presented in its entirety. I like to imagine what verbal tools would bring the sound closer to the ear of the reader. I can quite precisely delineate the conversation between and among the instruments. I can describe the tonality and how the key triggers an emotional response. I can feel the rhythm in my words. I can hear the words merging with the beauty of the acoustic elements. I can clearly be part of the conversation gliding along the swaying bassline. I can immerse myself in the most profound, yet so simple, blossoming of the harmony depicting it as a labyrinthine web whose paths are layered with melodic branches that like vine meander around the alleys all the while turning the delicate network into a cornucopia of the most delicious, sweet fruits…Like some fucking juicy county or something…And I still wouldn’t be able to tell the tiniest micropart of the story about what makes it the piece of music it is.

Once I was in an audio jungle. An acoustic zoo. An empire of buzz. I couldn’t recognize a single sound as plethora of them were so severely attacking my ear membrane. So mercilessly confusing my thoughts that I could hardly hear them. Which was not so bad, only I wish I could choose not to hear them. But it’s not important anymore anyway. What is still important, though, is that during that darkest of night flights through the nastiest of sound plights, there was a subtle, yet fierce, sound piercing the noise hurricane. As it was probing  the buzz whirlpool, it crashed its axis and turned it into a dissolving dusty cloud. Upon its remnants the tender conqueror started building an audio statue to celebrate being heard. As the melody line peered from the ashes of the harmony eater, its persistent look generating the composition like one would imagine a digitally manipulated depiction of the process of putting the pieces of the puzzle together within which the movements originally separated by thoughts deciding where to place each piece  are presented as a continuum. Which it, actually, is, but, of course, not exactly in the same way.

I could describe in  unbelievable detail how the music was being engendered. I could portray with astonishing precision how each of the soundbites was fusing with the other thereby enriching the existing piece with a new acoustic contingent. I could write about it as if I were listening to it, hopefully emanating some of the vibe to the eager ear of the reader. But I can by no means explain what it is that makes this goliath-defeater as astounding as it is. I cannot possibly reveal the way in which it made itself detectable to me. How it found its way through the audio jungle. Through the acoustic zoo. Through the empire of buzz. Which, I guess, is what makes it so fucking wondrous. What makes me listen to it in a different way every time I hear it. Hear its meek conversation from a different angle every time it becomes accessible to me. Hear its meekness always in the same way.

If I tell you that I don’t understand how one could hear something that one cannot turn into an audible expression, would you understand what I am sayin, given that you would not be able to articulate it? If I don’t say that what I heard prior to the elfin warrior’s getting into the scene was the lowest-of-the–fucking-low, beyond distasteful, unimaginative to the core, miserably deluded into an idea of domineering provocativeness, irrevocably pitiful absence of creative energy, would you not understand it, given that you would tell me the same were there verbal means for articulating it available? If so, yo ma fuckin elfin guy! If not, yo ma fuckin elfin guy. Only with a posfuturist twist: Yo majestic gerbera open up and speak!

Once I heard a piece of music. A song or something…I’ve been trying to tell a story about it ever since. Each attempt as unsuccessful as the previous one aiming at encapsulating why it became so important to me in the first place. Each failure inspires new desire to convey how it is profoundly touching without being intrusive, how effortlessly undoubtedly unrepeatable. Every time I hear it. It manifests itself in a different way. Because that’s how meekness can be heard.