The power of art
I've said it before, but never in writing. I believe that the reason we react so strongly to works of art - whether they be musical, literary, visual, or whatever - is because they are buoys tied to memories which lie deep beneath the surface of our consciousness. This album, for example, quite good in its own right, is made much more than that by fond yet sad recollections of the first time I heard it. Where are you now, you desperate angel?
I spent the holiday with the dog taking drugs at home (that's just me taking drugs, not the dog) while the rest of the family travelled to London for a grand feast. If the leftovers were any indication, a good time must have been had by all. Then tonight some of the guys came over and we played some music, just piano, bass, and drums. Naturally, I ended up singing lead on all songs save one, and no doubt my throat will suffer come morning, but I for one was pleased by the relative non-suckitude of our performace, what with two of us down with this damn virus and the other on some serious muscle relaxer. It just goes to show -- I don't need alcohol to enjoy myself. Pain will do in a pinch.
I spent the holiday with the dog taking drugs at home (that's just me taking drugs, not the dog) while the rest of the family travelled to London for a grand feast. If the leftovers were any indication, a good time must have been had by all. Then tonight some of the guys came over and we played some music, just piano, bass, and drums. Naturally, I ended up singing lead on all songs save one, and no doubt my throat will suffer come morning, but I for one was pleased by the relative non-suckitude of our performace, what with two of us down with this damn virus and the other on some serious muscle relaxer. It just goes to show -- I don't need alcohol to enjoy myself. Pain will do in a pinch.