More when more music is done...Music is magic - and there is hardly anything as special for humans that can be shared between one another so easily. We all understand it inherently. Formless stories in a language that can only be referred to. Dancing. An actual tribe ritual in a jungle, all the way to a pretentious rave party in a warehouse. Yes, life itself, rotating wheels of motion, the most wonderful reflection. And it has more faces than the number of humans currently habiting the Earth - as it can be felt and interpreted differently within one person, even within one day. Tell me truly, why exactly do you enjoy that song? Why do I like one particular sound? Mmm, do I really need to analyse the significance and the meaning behind why one song helps me become or - could I dance about it? Surely. Then why do I have to write an essay about music? We hear music, we play it and play along it, we wave it, we don't establish laws and tax on it or ...or do we? The "music industry" - Ayy, ayy, hold on... the conglomerates, the massive monsters of "copyright laws" and the likes of ... Evil is real. Evil sits in large cars and private jets. Yes, those are part of the gargantuan worms eating away the human condition. Yet I am not here to fight that - at least not directly (though my ways are often are direct action) - I used to do that "fighting" when I fronted hardcore bands, wanting to bash this to that. No. Music has to remain personal, must come "from small", it has to be of "within", it needs to hurt and it needs to be glad, it has to make attempts to occupy the largest spectrum ever, it has to grow and shrink and most importantly: it has to stay the magic it is. I condemn "contemporary technology" and anything and anyone who dares to publish a piece of music for a reason less than for the grace to let their soul sing and dance. If I make one goddamn song in a year and I can't sell it, that is part of its' story - maybe it is cause I am bleeding (from a dart wound in my side that forces me to keep repeating just one song). Personal. Visceral. Something from beyond, dragged back to this reality. Dancing. On personal style: The only thing my father could do well was to own some good cassettes: Queen, Alphaville, Faith No More, Snap!, BoneyM, ABBA. My circumstances added endless texture and darkness. Mostly darkness, howl from a void. Burning coal, hammering heat. I am forever inspired by helicopters - as I often fled school due to anxiety, bullying and confusion, I sat in solitude atop a large hill overlooking valleys and more hills: then came the magic, every now and then a helicopter flew over those creases and grooves of nature, producing unforgettable sounds and rhythms which engraved music into the melting vinyl of my mind. Arpeggios from machines but let Gyorgy Ligeti and Diamanda Galas cast spells on it. Entertain and aim at actual targets but keep it "at self" and let it remain a craft of a heart. A personal message to an answering machine at 4am, a lone and improvised song shouted at the sea. "Bold and fancy words, now, Richard, where's the f****ing album???"