You know how people say, "Life is like a blahh blahh blaahh blahhh bladebladeblah..." Well, I try to refrain from talk like that as much as I can, mostly for aesthetic reasons, and also so as to not sound like a pretentious prick. But then people who think about sounding like a pretentious prick mostly always are pretentious pricks anyway, and they are just afraid of other people noticing... oh well...
Life is like the blues. It's a quicky and it's a slow swing. It's about love but mostly about love lost. It's about tragedy and sadness, and at the same time, it's about the triumph of the soul.
Life is like the blues. Mostly up, and mostly down. Simple and yet so very intricate. Life is consumed in the smokey basement jazz rooms with scotch on ice and a woman on your arm. Life is a long meditation, a contemplation of things beyond understanding, but audible in the slow soft backbeats on the snare, and that understated double kick, just reminding you every once in a while, to breath. And all the time, the cymbals keep in time, pushing and pushing and pushing this beat to the next and the next, just like time itself.
Life is that fleeting thought on the piano, those notes running away on the guitar. A sad note held, only to be broken by an orgasmic shrill of the sax. Things so difficult to express. Concepts like love, life, betrayal and happiness, so easily communicated in those notes. Everything you need to know about life is right there, in between those keys and frets. All you have to do is listen.
Life is like the blues. It's a quicky and it's a slow swing. It's about love but mostly about love lost. It's about tragedy and sadness, and at the same time, it's about the triumph of the soul.
Life is like the blues. Mostly up, and mostly down. Simple and yet so very intricate. Life is consumed in the smokey basement jazz rooms with scotch on ice and a woman on your arm. Life is a long meditation, a contemplation of things beyond understanding, but audible in the slow soft backbeats on the snare, and that understated double kick, just reminding you every once in a while, to breath. And all the time, the cymbals keep in time, pushing and pushing and pushing this beat to the next and the next, just like time itself.
Life is that fleeting thought on the piano, those notes running away on the guitar. A sad note held, only to be broken by an orgasmic shrill of the sax. Things so difficult to express. Concepts like love, life, betrayal and happiness, so easily communicated in those notes. Everything you need to know about life is right there, in between those keys and frets. All you have to do is listen.
