To sleep in this room of feeling again

These songs are both sung by artist with a vocal ability to bowl you completely over from whatever you were doing previously. They are similar, they both tremolo, domino by thoughts fall over in worship as their lyrical poignancy picks all the death of me up from the dissatisfied, the detraction, and stands abstract things upright so that I can look them straight in the eye. These words accompany the moments that caught me most; the curation I am so fortunate to be able to organise the strands of thought: I can loop these strands until there’s literally no unexpected anomaly of discomfort: this is meditation as the waves pass through the listen with such emotional honesty, furnishing my room with more than just a “”, more than just a fleeting forgettable sound file: these are example songs of artists who have successfully broken out of the analytical framework that fell over them in the first place

every artist finds a challenge in being fulfilled and announcing herself to the universals of a monopoly: I am forever fulfilled in my creativity and my yearning to be heard but somehow the kings will never know me.

I’m real and I want to share a space in which thoughts have sounds and in which the music we are all obsessed with is able to express those thoughts. If this is a review then let it be known that it is a review amongst many, just like songs stay in your head and overlap with another and may not be extricated from the memories and the people and the feelings and the contexts with whom you understood them; those songs, these songs that fall upon us here in infinitely opaque conjunction.

If the music world was a room it would be, yes, refurbished, attractive for a moment, it would speed your breathe whence you open its modern door, you see the beautiful shine and it holds your attention span for a very discreet duration. It would also be a bit dead; sterile when you need its energy, racing with a pointless reflection through the metallic window when once you need its sleep. That is, unmoving when you need its life, sporadic when you need its stability. It is a room in which you take the pillow between your teeth until the polyester feathers are flying disparately in the air-conditioned space between your forehead and the white ceiling, your memories and mind contained in music files, your spirituality sufficed in the uploads still faintly visible through the slight speakers.

With that, we return to a point of meaning amongst a constellation of purpose retained for one individual, might as well be me now I’m writing, ¬†might as well be the only starting-parameter available; the bit where the 2nd person still seems to care in an environment quite sparse of such emotion if only left alone now, with the screen covering the eyes, the pillow functioning fine, but without promise.

Instructions that succeed the aforementioned starting point, by number:

1. at some point during indeterminacy be taken over by a new existential discovery.mp3 on ?.com
2. at some other point during emotional indeterminacy be taken over by an old existential discovery.mp3 on ?.com
3. recollect both points
4. reflect upon the duration of seconds of the .mp3 during which your heart potentially leaps most, your skin wakes up the most
5. isolate these durations within the avenues of a music software programme
6. allow your motivation and breadth of attention to be lead by aforementioned body language concerning examples of skin and heart
6. continue being alive until a convenient moment of feeling some other kind of impulse that is not related to (1-5)
7. export and upload the output of your motivation and attention that contains both original .mp3 points
8. realise that you are human through the optimal categorisation of your previous human time; ‘I’m George and I review… etc.’
9. Spare many a small prayer for the humans with whom you’ve related to over the course of (1-8); mention the names of those whose commodification you have most obviously come to know in name and file and duration, within the footnotes; write a symbolic abstract that needs no translation thereafter.

And so, we are here, number 8, a vertical infinity from one perspective – I understand that reviewing music does not need words and does not need stress or over-thinking at all. The music world can not need such species of anxiety, those species are the objects of evolution and extinction of an economic system that we increasingly do not belong to in laptop-screen light of our post-2012 stasis / saturation.

Footnotes

Annie Eve – Elvis (live)
((mothers)) – fat chance (live)

post-abstract

I’m real and I review music and it’s long since I did so by likening one artist to another. I am magnetically repelled from many facets of the ‘music world’; I’m not sure such a world exists as it may have done so, so naively and effectively in the past. During the years 2007 and 2012, music consumption exponentially saturated itself through the exponentially increased accessibility of internet outlets. This has done wonders for the democracy of expression and the once-inhibited silence of a hidden artist, it has done nothing for the pre-existing monopolies of music production and music categories. And so, the latter is forever more absurd and alienating of the human creative and the ‘music’ that she embarks upon.

I have heard, I am read.

Thanks and take care, welcome to the room and goodbye when you leave.

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