Life Makes Music [that sticks to your ribs...]

I’m not a poet so forgive me for my prose…

The last time I spoke freely, on my terms, on my soapbox with a [seemingly] interested crowd I
Had a DJ beside me, and it was always more about the beats and less about the words.
Now all you’re all listening captive to the syllables my vocal chords can manage to produce.

Now you all sit in your seats – as patrons of the arts and connoisseurs of a trade I merely attempt to barter in.
Now it’s less about the rhythm and more about the rhyme – it’s more about keeping my own time. Improvising and re-revising.

I feel the pressure to pause for dramatic effect in all the proper places, to use my voice like an actor on stage and I Can’t help but wish I had a DJ beside me, beatmatching from the respective masters of their harmonic domains: Radiohead, Jimi Hendrix, Chris Medeski, Stanton Moore, Cut Chemist and Talib Kweli, the DJ managing to emphasize just the right {waaaaah} note coming out of a B3 Hammond organ – at exactly the right time.

A perfectly placed guitar riff, drum solo, and scratching ability travel via sound waves at 1087 feet per second.

And The reverberations reach my eardrum and vibrate this thin membrane in sympathy with the outside world and travel through the cochlea along the basilar membrane and the nerves send a signal to activate my left frontal cortex and right cerebellum become activated. Or so they say. All I know is that the beats
Just go
OnOn
And
OnAndOn
And On

Inside my head.
Perpetually driven by my ever-changing surroundings, the perceived beats of my environment provide me with an internal metronome accompanied by the blaringly brilliant train whistles and amazing absence of car horns – these noises and juxtaposed silences make me think there can’t possibly be enough hours in the day to
Hear it All.

From hip-hop to bluegrass and back again because while this may be my brain,
This is my brain on music.