Archive for January, 2013

so…whatzhappenin?

Wednesday, January 23rd, 2013
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I have been reading a lot of George Macdonald lately. He is my favorite author by far. I am really inspired by his poetry as well – even though I am closer to what he would have called a rhymester… 🙂

There has been a lot of writing activity behind the scenes…I just finished another 15 pieces of music for JP, I have been into some classic electro and heavy rhythmic stuff lately – I might post some of it here later. My latest BMI statement had a nice chunk of change coming from MTV which is cool. You know – I would highly recommend getting into licensing if you are a musician, even as a solo instrumentalist. The streaming payouts are a joke1 joke2 for the most part…but in the interest of diverse opinions I have included another good article here. I make more from a single short piece on the Logo network than entire bands with thousands of streams. Granted – it is absolutely not only about the money – but as an income “stream” it is a viable and reliable way forward… It seems to me in this current environment musicians have to diversify. Writing, recording, giving lessons, playing live, getting endorsements, exploiting online distribution possibilities etc etc all need to be added to the hustle of earning an income.
I have also been doing some online studies @ Lynda.com you can do a trial for free for 1 week, so have a look and see if they feature something you are interested in. I am collaborating on another tune which is looks to rock quite allright – if it goes as I hope it will be a pretty fierce tune. That’s all I got for now – catch you all later.

…what is the point?

Monday, January 14th, 2013
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It is a ruinous misjudgment—too contemptible to be asserted, but not too contemptible to be acted upon, that the end of poetry is publication. Its true end is to help first the man who makes it along the path to the truth: help for other people may or may not be in it; that, if it become a question at all, must be an after one. To the man who has it, the gift is invaluable; and, in proportion as it helps him to be a better man, it is of value to the whole world; but it may, in itself, be so nearly worthless, that the publishing of it would be more for harm than good. Ask any one who has had to perform the unenviable duty of editor to a magazine: he will corroborate what I say—that the quantity of verse good enough to be its own reward, but without the smallest claim to be uttered to the world, is enormous.

Sir Gibbie

Note: replace poet with musician, songwriter, painter etc for a broader application.

To have what we want is riches,

Tuesday, January 8th, 2013
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but to be able to do without is power.

GM

He was a poet—

Tuesday, January 8th, 2013
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but one of the few without any weak longing after listening ears. The poet whose poetry needs an audience, can be but little of a poet; neither can the poetry that is of no good to the man himself, be of much good to anybody else. There are the song-poets and the life-poets, or rather the God-poems. Sympathy is lovely and dear—chiefly when it comes unsought; but the fame after which so many would-be, yea, so many real poets sigh, is poorest froth. Donal could sing his songs like the birds, content with the blue heaven or the sheep for an audience—or any passing angel that cared to listen. On the hill-sides he would sing them aloud, but it was of the merest natural necessity. A look of estrangement on the face of a friend, a look of suffering on that of any animal, would at once and sorely affect him, but not a disparaging expression on the face of a comparative stranger, were she the loveliest woman he had ever seen. He was little troubled about the world, because little troubled about himself.

Sir Gibbie

everything is poetical

Saturday, January 5th, 2013
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GK Chesterton wrote a book called called Heretics and in it he describes a state of mind I find very desirable. Perhaps it is best for me to include the bit that struck me – and hopefully you too will find it revealing about how easy it is for us to lose the mystery and poetry of life that is found at every turn! I have edited bits out – and naturally because of when he wrote some of his references are unknown to us…but the main points remain in their awesomeness.

…III. On Mr. Rudyard Kipling and Making the World Small

There is no such thing on earth as an uninteresting subject; the only thing that can exist is an uninterested person. Nothing is more keenly required than a defence of bores. When Byron divided humanity into the bores and bored, he omitted to notice that the higher qualities exist entirely in the bores, the lower qualities in the bored, among whom he counted himself. The bore, by his starry enthusiasm, his solemn happiness, may, in some sense, have proved himself poetical. The bored has certainly proved himself prosaic.

We might, no doubt, find it a nuisance to count all the blades of grass or all the leaves of the trees; but this would not be because of our boldness or gaiety, but because of our lack of boldness and gaiety. The bore would go onward, bold and gay, and find the blades of grass as splendid as the swords of an army. The bore is stronger and more joyous than we are; he is a demigod—nay, he is a god. For it is the gods who do not tire of the iteration of things; to them the nightfall is always new, and the last rose as red as the first.

The sense that everything is poetical is a thing solid and absolute; it is not a mere matter of phraseology or persuasion. It is not merely true, it is ascertainable. Men may be challenged to deny it; men may be challenged to mention anything that is not a matter of poetry. I remember a long time ago a sensible sub-editor coming up to me with a book in his hand, called “Mr. Smith,” or “The Smith Family,” or some such thing. He said, “Well, you won’t get any of your damned mysticism out of this,” or words to that effect. I am happy to say that I undeceived him; but the victory was too obvious and easy. In most cases the name is unpoetical, although the fact is poetical. In the case of Smith, the name is so poetical that it must be an arduous and heroic matter for the man to live up to it. The name of Smith is the name of the one trade that even kings respected, it could claim half the glory of that arma virumque which all epics acclaimed. The spirit of the smithy is so close to the spirit of song that it has mixed in a million poems, and every blacksmith is a harmonious blacksmith.

Even the village children feel that in some dim way the smith is poetic, as the grocer and the cobbler are not poetic, when they feast on the dancing sparks and deafening blows in the cavern of that creative violence. The brute repose of Nature, the passionate cunning of man, the strongest of earthly metals, the weirdest of earthly elements, the unconquerable iron subdued by its only conqueror, the wheel and the ploughshare, the sword and the steam-hammer, the arraying of armies and the whole legend of arms, all these things are written, briefly indeed, but quite legibly, on the visiting-card of Mr. Smith.

…and

…it is a sanctuary of human words. If you think the name of “Smith” prosaic, it is not because you are practical and sensible; it is because you are too much affected with literary refinements. The name shouts poetry at you. If you think of it otherwise, it is because you are steeped and sodden with verbal reminiscences, because you remember everything in Punch or Comic Cuts about Mr. Smith being drunk or Mr. Smith being henpecked. All these things were given to you poetical. It is only by a long and elaborate process of literary effort that you have made them prosaic.