I made a joke once, I made the horrendously improper claim that I was actually willing to get on an aeroplane. Thank Zeus (because Jupiter was a plagiarist and God is sexist. The bitch.) no one believed me. Boy would that have been embarrassing. I could've been like ol' William Graham (let's see you get that reference, Bicro. Oh, damn. I just gave it up). I also made the improperly horrendous claim that I was willing to smoke cigars. Thank Ghandi (because Martin Luther King is in cahoots with God, and therefore clearly conspiring against me in some penis-choppery related way, and Bono is a piece of shit. The 5 foot 6 inches little shit. But don't be sad that I called you a little shit, Bono, you're still taller than me. See, that's better. Now, wipe off those tears, and take a dump, you'll feel right as rain before you know it!) no one was that stupid. Right?
Regardless, wanting to disappear wasn't a joke. And what better way to disappear, than to get on a boat and...
We never saw him again.
Those mountains are gorgeous, aren't they? The view from up there... ah! Orgasmic!
This isn't sarcasm. Not in the least bit. In fact, I know exactly what I'm talking about, and the view is great. But, you know, something I learnt yesterday was that a gorgeous view can sometimes be nothing more than wank fodder for the peepers. Sometimes they don't appeal to the most important organ of all: the heart.
The sound of the ocean stirs me. While those sexy mountains with their luscious peaks entice, that ocean... that sound... it calls you softly. Beckons you to stay awhile. Sit and relax. Enjoy the sound of the waves softly lapping against the hull of your boat. Play a little guitar while you're at it.
And there's my inspiration for the Leyenda Suite, the thought of playing a guitar to the beat of the waves. The desire to be there.
That very desire is also why you may have noticed something a little odd in the music. A nagging sound accompanying the ocean and birds, an unnatural whine, groan, rumble or crash (cymbal, quite literally). More than anything, this is just a message to myself, but I'll share it anyway:
"Dear Young Wan, get a haircut. You look like a homosexual, you fuckin' fag! Also, you're not in Grenada, yet. And as long as you're listening to these Kool Waves and Bodacious Birds, I'm going to remind you of that, so you don't use this to relax (okay, you can relax a little, because that's some great guitar playing), but to understand what it is you want. Got it? Get a haircut. And maybe work out. Fix those scrawny little arms of yours. Oh, and could you please tell Rodney to shut up with consciousness? That crap about sound being aware of itself is total shite. Shite! Now, if you excuse me, I need to fix my wavelength. I think I hear a beat coming... oh, the joy! I think I'm jazz-jizzing already. Yours sincerely, Unnatural J. Sound."
I do work out, my abs are great, mostly. And why the thoughts of my music, and such pleasant, beautiful music too, are so obscene is beside me, but I understand Unnatural J. Sound's point. And listening to the songs, the waves, the guitar, the point is so perfect and perfectly clear.
Art should never be a substitution.
If you want to see what the world looks like from the top of a mountain, don't look at a picture. If you want to know what a robin sounds like, don't listen to Woodland Birds Leyenda.
Climb that mountain. Go out into the woods and prick your ears. Just as one day, I'm going to respectfully push the Leyenda Suite aside and record a set of new songs, this time without the need for Unnatural J. Sound.
THE END.
Leyenda (Asturias) was composed by Isaac Albéniz. You can listen to the piece I used here, performed by Gordon Rowland.
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