>Never more to roam…

Thursday, April 4, 2010 . 2 comments . Posted in General


Have they started it yet? *Fire* …the war on the playground and the bloodshed… Ah, peace is a mile away where the child at the orphanage wails for food… The sudden burst of downpour cleansed the bleeding soldier’s wrecked body…
The country and the young people will be proud of him for the freedom he inherited. Freedom… Freedom to exploit… Freedom to slay… Freedom to betray… Oh my dear soldier, why have you burned your body? Oh beloved soldier, why have they left you alive handicapped?
Remember that time, white flags in the summer land… The days and the nights where those sparkling stars reflected upon the silky streams… Ah, there you had a dream; heavens spread all its haze upon you…
Now the final curtains are down… The stage is no more for you to perform. This stage was your last ground to act. The blow has ruined your dreams… There are tears in your eyes… The day was bright, and the dusk was splendid… He smiled at his only love, kissed his child and opened the doors… And the rest is history. There’s a blue song in the dark room. There she’s waiting for his return… And she waits for him, all the night, staring at the empty street, through her dusky pane…
But… the empty playground and him… Never more to roam… Never more to roam… He’s gone… She knows not… there the candles are burning… In a while, her tears will drench its flame away… 


>Melodies & Meaning by Michael DiGrande

Monday, April 4, 2010 . 3 comments . Posted in General


I’ll admit it: When NJ asked me to write a guest post on the topic of music, I was both intimidated and excited. 

I was intimidated because NJ’s blog comes from a headspace that’s deep seated in emotions and feelings, where my blog tends to come from an analytical perspective.  True, I talk about emotional responses to music, but I imagine the approach he takes with his blog is vastly different from the one I take with mine.  However, the excitement I felt stemmed from the chance to write candidly about the greatest thing in the world, and those feelings are always a lot stronger than the apprehensive ones. 

So let’s get to it with something that Aldous Huxley once said: 

“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.” 

I didn’t read all of Brave New World, but I don’t think I need to in order to figure out what Mr. Huxley is going on about.  In fact, the odds are no matter what kind of listener you are, audiophile or casual pop follower, you’ll understand what he’s going on about too. 

You’ll understand it because you’ve felt in, from the very music you’ve listened to in your life. 

In my 22 years alive, nothing has come close to the experiences I’ve had with music.  It’s an anomaly as a form of media as well as a form of creative expression, an incredibly public experience while remaining strikingly intimate.  Think about that for a moment: What other artifact can human beings experience in a crowded room, or on a lonely night drive, with said artifact retaining the ability to move one’s inner self?  What other tangible thing can get a whole room dancing, or make the moon seem that much brighter?  What can lift the weight of the world while giving gravity to our lives? 

To my knowledge, only music can. 

Regardless of the setting it’s experienced in, music is a profound presence in our lives, one that can simultaneously make us look outward and inward.  With a backbeat and melody it can move mountains, heal the hurt, harness a mood, a feeling, or an experience.  It can effortlessly imply a universal commonality inside one’s ears, reassuring us that we’re in this big black unknown together, even if it doesn’t seem like it.  It can take you in between the shadows and spaces in your mind, while measuring out time itself within in song’s length. 

I’m not a religious man, but I’d argue that creating and experiencing music is perhaps the closest we can get to the spiritual, to the cosmic that’s outside ourselves.   

With the 20th Century’s advent of the 7” and the 45”, everyone suddenly had access to this magical thing, and it’s only gotten more accessible as time’s gone on.  Now all we need is a radio and a dial, an iPhone, or a stereo with that mix CD you’ve been meaning to listen to.  Our turntables and CD players become alters in a way, a sacred space where we ritualize our listening with great care.  We listen when we’re working, when we’re moving, while we’re sleeping.  We allow this thing to move through us, and because we can never touch it, taste it, see it, or smell it, we ALWAYS feel it. 

I’m romanticizing it of course, but we take great care to lay these discs down, to create this playlists and mixes.  Even the most flippant music consumer is aware that what these mp3s contain is special.  We give these sounds our undivided attention, letting them probe the deepest parts of ourselves.  We’re more open to them than we are to our loved ones, more attuned to them than the outside world. 

We don’t want them ruined, marred or destroyed.  We want them to last forever because, in a way, if their presence is infinite, ours will be too. 

Because the final thing music does is it brings us back to moments in our lives, the places that are caught between dreaming and remembering.  Better than a photograph or a journal, music takes us out of the now and puts us back into the moments that have shaped us.  It allows us to travel to the memories we cherish most, the ones with most meaning, the experiences we want to resonate forever.  Music takes the feelings we feel, the feelings we cannot accurately relay (even in our closest relationships), and it allows us to feel them as if no time has passed.  It allows us to live lifetimes in our mind, an incredible feat for something only experienced by one of our senses. 

It makes the intangible, tangible, expressing it with a grace and eloquence that human speech could never fully articulate.  It is a shared well of knowledge, gleaned from all corners of the world in a countless number of ways.  And when you really think about it, music ultimately explains everything there is to explain:  Harmony and discord, pain and joy, love and loss. 

All we have to do is listen.
Author: Michael DiGrande
Author’s Blog: This Song Starts A Craze 
Mike @ Twitter: http://twitter.com/MikeDiGrande


>I love her… And I miss her…

Monday, April 4, 2010 . 1 comment » . Posted in General


She lived… Today, as I turn back and see the days that I spent with her, a short touch of a soft feather… Today, I thought about her… I love her… She lived.

The dark side of the lone heart murmurs a soft song. It bleeds… Until the last thick blood drop, it bleeds, and it bleeds away the pain… Ah, the sound of a terror hits upon the sailors ship… It doesn’t sink… It doesn’t sink at all… The music’s on… In the backyard it still plays like a nightingale bidding her final farewell. She lived… in the twentieth century. Who was she? She had these pretty eyes who could fix a smile upon my little face… The doors are shut and I’m in a lost land, searching for the shining stars… In her eyes I saw thousand sparkling stars…

The amount of love that she gave is enough for a life span to remember… In her eyes I saw ancient tales. And her eyes were connected with my soul to search and seek sanity. She lived in the era where the Kings and Queens ruled the land. Across the empty shore, away from the filthy land, she sculpted her dreams. Alas, the dreams were taken away by some inmates who had no clout over the terrain. There was a time where it used to rain, always… Ah, yes, I said, always. And we used to stare upon the little branches which used to plunge little drops of unsullied water. Ah, fresh smell of the wet sand and the slow arrival of the December haze… Life… Ah, it hurts to recollect memoirs… I never used to write diaries… I never used to keep photographs… All that hurts me… We’re no man’s army to fight against the freedom that our great savior has granted us with. Today, I remember her. She lived. Until the lost moment, she will live in me… In my memories, she’ll… for ever and ever…

Note: This post is about my great grandmother. I do remember her. I loved her a lot. I guess I was 5 years old when she passed away. We both were traveling in a bus from her sister’s place, and she reached back home, and slept. She had mentioned to me that her head was aching. I never knew her time had come. Respect them. All of us will one day has to go through the same life. Respect grey hair.


>The carnival of freedom…

Monday, April 4, 2010 . 8 comments . Posted in General


This is the final farewell from his dreamy land. Here he waits for the sunshine, to carry him away to a fairy land. He waits… Oh, the sudden light falls upon the distant streams, coursing its way to blend with his dreams. Dreams… What exactly is a dream? His voice echoes, leaving him alone at disbelief… There’s no nightingale… There’s no November rain… he stands alone… His heart is as hard as the soul who wails in a dungeon… The powerful weapon thrusts his hard heart to ease his sight… Powerful weapon… Ah, powerful weapon… That’s his past tales… He isn’t too far away… The dark hour of his mystic ride is on its way to end the race… At pace it crawls, moving the entire hurdles to the empty playground… Memories… What exactly is a memory? His voice echoes, letting him wander through the sparkling reflections of the fallen stars… Ah, agony… Ah, ardor… His body is weak and his soul is strong. And he finds his lost friend’s last note… He reads it for one last time and throws it away… The spirits are burning for another life… Another dream… Another land… Here he waits… Somewhere the sun is shining… And he walks to the land where he has come from…
*The rain falls*… *He walks away*… And the note fades its way to an unknown world…
And it was scribbled in blues on a black sheet with his thick blood…
In a dungeon
On his knees
And his soul
In tears, lost
And the bells
Gallows pole
In his dreams
At her sight
His last plea
In an instant
Cell unlocks
Bells unheard
And he walks
And he leaves