Hebdomadaire, Beaded mohair Hero aimed bad (He aimed broad). Media board, eh? Hide me aboard! Dread Bohemia, bid “Rome ahead”…
When we figure out how the story goes, then we can tell it, and if not then we just talk about the weather, which always changes into what we are expecting when we try to follow the forecast. That (forecasting the weather) is an honorable and lucrative profession. I should have gone for that one, probably. It was one of my “deep” interests and still is, really, to a large degree. But I am not any sort of recognized expert nor am I wanting to be considered one. Yet often I know more (it seems) about what’s coming, both in the atmospherics and the hearts of men and women, than the professionals are making a living (or a killing) at being experts in doing right.
Or if it is wrong, how would it ever get fixed, or mended, or repaired, or emended, amended, or just done the right way finally?
Music can be said to be perfect when it “happens” and that is probably what I like most about it.
Listening to recordings easily gives an illusion of perfections, since the recording never “forgets” anything. Except of course, the record can never “fake it” so it sounds okay. What folks do not (often) know is that “good” music really needs the accidentals.
Why do they call it “the blues” if not for “blue” notes, which are deliberately “off” when you did not mean to do it accidentally at all? Go ahead and explain it to me, the guy who knows how to make and fix dozens of mistakes ever hour (or minute) of the day, and sometimes we never talk about them.
(Who could possibly have enough time to review all the little foul-ups?)
Not me, that’s for galled-hanged sorry-tan!!!
(I have a speach impediementation)
Must remember to be silent. Listen to better sounds…
(cheese, whadda showoff)