A Quick Note in a May Night

Lately, I’ve been writing songs and it’s been magical. I’ve always been a fan of music but these summer days have made me believe there’s more I haven’t witnessed. I’ve also been a fan of poetry and it’s cool to experience both music and poetry at the same time when composing a song. It’s amazing you get to do two things you love to do at the same time. Or maybe I’m wrong. I get to do a million little things at the same time. Love. Hate. Dream. Talk to a special person in the other side of the universe. Jump. Run. Paint. Don’t do anything. Be crazy. Stay crazy. Go on a journey. Fight monsters. Tell someone I love him for the first time. Be blessed. Count stars. Smile.

Every lyric you write is you, and the melody you create is you, and the guitar is you, and the song is just you. I consider writing songs one of the highest forms of art and indeed one of my favorites.

20150504_084058I am thankful to the people who inspire me to create music, people who create music with me, and people who believe in my music.

Tribute to the Guitar

I put premium to sound over technique. Sound is the ultimate reason of the six strings. It is the ultimate truth, the ultimate existence. It is what defines each string’s character and what delivers the message, both the veiled and the obvious. It is the very portal of melody from where spring passion and hatred and hurt and love. It is the offspring of the strings. It is their cry, their applause, their silence, their prophecy. Sound is what reverberates. Sound is soul.

But since without technique sound shall forever be chaotic, should I alter my own standards? Should it be technique over sound? Technique. It is what saves the melody from misjudgment. It gives the melody its disposition and dictates its nature. It rescues the melody from entanglement and places it in its own harmonious morass. It is the linking of the six strings, each displaying their distinct voices, finally creating a whole stroke of genius. Technique is the final arena for the battle of the six.

I reckon that sound and technique are born a twin to this far too common instrument–the guitar. Yet the guitar deserves no bias. It is exceptional. It makes you suffer. Your fingers feel pain for the first few attempts. Your fingers are lost. They shake and feel weak against the stubborn strings. You produce unacceptable sound meant to be heard by the dinosaurs alone. Every chord is a pain. A frustration. A defeat. But never a surrender for a true musician. For the guitar likes the person who dares to dance with it.

And the guitar loves you back until the pain produces the finest tones. The pain mixes with a wondrous feeling of being able to create motion and life and harmony. Now the strings are your playmates, the music your haven. Then your fingers start to move spontaneously along the narrow pathway that holds thousands of possibilities. They are free. It is not you now that commands them but the invitation of the guitar to play endlessly. Finally, your fingers found strength.

The guitar then rewards you of the power that can pacify a war of tones into a soulful opus. It allows you to enter it and be its friend. It hugs you, caresses you while you tickle it. You find in it a refuge. A splendid company. Then you get lost with it and you are in love.