Well, nobody wondered why I did not post any new blogs on my blogsite for six years. Meanwhile, Facebook came along, and little snippets of private lives replaced the literary potential of the blogosphere. I am not sure if I like that.

it's all work, work, work, practise, practise, practise

a little dream scene (not much left of it, darn)

POINT OF VIEW across the instruments of a large airliner through the front shield of the cockpit: a landscape with soft grassy hills swiftly coming closer.
The engines of the airliner are revving up, the airplane is slowing down its descent for a few seconds, only to increase the downward speed again soon after. The ground is coming dangerously close now. The airliner is out of control. A crash seems unavoidable.

CUT TO: Family sitting around a table in a spacious live-in kitchen. Grandparents, father, mother and child. Outside the kitchen window a burning airplane wreckage.

Child
Can I have the butter, please?

Mother is handing over the plate with the butter.

Father
Something is not quite right here.
Has anybody an idea how we came here?

Mother
Strange. I don't remember actually coming here.

EXTREME CLOSE UP of the father's face. His skin tone is bluish. On the surface of the skin we can see a shimmering gleen in the colors of the rainbow. He looks vibrant, slightly shaking, curious, excited.

Father
We did not survive the crash.

....

I went from being a listener of music to being a musician

I listen to the car radio when I drive. And I drive often. I live in a rural thriving community in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada in Northern California, and I spend hours daily in the car -- bringing the kids to school (1h15min) going shopping (1h) picking up the mail (45min) -- the next gas station is 20 min. So I listen to the radio a lot.

Today I listened to this woman giving a speech about saving the world by recognizing that Earth is a living organism and starting to treat it like such. I would totally agree with what this woman said, but I had the feeling when I heard her speak that instead of being in a hotel conference room speaking to 150 people she should invite all of them into their garden and have them working on clearing some beds, putting some seeds or seedlings into the ground and help mother earth with their hands and bodies instead of sitting in a stuffy hotel room theoretizing about it.

There is something funny about theoretizing about tangible, physical, things. You have to go away from the very thing you are talking about in order to talk about it. You have to be passive. And you only get half the truth.

So when I *talk* about making music I use the wrong language. I should not use words but tones instead.

That's what I have been doing.

I went from being a listener of music to being a musician.

I know preciously little about music theory. But I am lucky enough in my life to have a grand piano in the living room, a wonderful carved double bass, and friends who are willing and patient enough to allow me to play with them and gradually fit in.
Playing WITH somebody is about 100 times more effective that playing by myself.
And I noticed something that I would never have noticed if I had remained in the mainstream group of people who are satisfied in their lives as musicians by downloading their favorite tunes on iTunes and arranging them to "mixes". I noticed that:

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A WRONG NOTE

Every interval is perfect. Every interval is like a personality, it creates a certain mood, has a color, a flavor, a tangible form. And music is basically consisting of intervals. Intervals in time make a melody. Intervals played at the same time make chords.

I gotta go now.

Me and my friends will play at the Sierra Festival of the Arts, in the streets of my little home town, Grass Valley, this afternoon. And I will have to get ready, shower off the dirt from gardening this morning.

Talk to you later....