When I lived in my previous flat in the city, the only thing I had to look at was a fraction of the street below and a ruined church directly opposite. The only other things surrounding me were buildings almost indistinguishable from the one I was in. Space wasn't an issue, and the lack of a view meant I spent more time concentrating on working, but it did mean that I couldn't be inspired from within the studio by the things around me (apart from once, when I was snowed in). Inspiration can come from anywhere. For example, last week I was buying a new tie and I had an idea that forced me to rush home and start working. If that can be triggered from within the studio, the purity of the idea cannot be compromised from the initial spark of inspiration to its eventual realisation. The intention is to remove as many barriers between myself and a finished piece of music as possible. I had a lot of problems regarding the noise from my neighbour in my last apartment, that destroyed any attempt at peaceful study. That is now a distant memory.
This one came from a late night session at the piano, during which the city gardens became increasingly desolate until there was one girl sat alone on one of the benches. Facing away from me, her gaze was fixed on the fountains which had long since been turned off. As she waited, I played, wondering who she was expecting to see at that time of night. Outside the garden, at the other end of the square, a security guard stood outside the foyer, cigarette lighter briefly illuminating the shape of his features. As he leaned against the wall of his building, everything died away until there was only the three of us in the whole of the city, backdrop to a private revue. I'm prone to drift into reverie without much effort anyway, but the repeating piano figure came from seemingly nowhere at all, a result of my witnessing this scene. There was an overwhelming sense of isolation shared between the three of us, like something straight out of a Hopper painting (which I am now trying to get prints of to decorate the studio).
As she waited, I moved on to the Moog for colour. Growing up in the 90s meant I was exposed to a lot of new age music which, while being around since the 70s, experienced a surge in popularity at the end of the 80s. Roland D-50s, Korg M1s, even the mighty DX7 provided the type of textures associated with meditative soundscapes - I still feel a certain stillness when the smooth, glassy sound of a digitally synthesised pad is played. Due to the prevalence of digital synths by the 90s, which were by that point were far more fashionable than their analog cousins, the new age music I was hearing was made almost exclusively with this equipment. It was only later, when looking more closely at the roots of genre, did I understand what synths were capable of in this area and the depth of sound available. I soon found the colour of sound I was looking for, rewound the track and overdubbed. All the while she sat, the night breeze now rattling the blind atop my open window. There was time for one more pass to provide the type of dynamics only a Moog can before things changed.
Up until this point, I'd felt a certain sense of responsibility in keeping an eye on this girl, noticeably removed from anything else in the centre of the city. Her waiting felt profoundly romantic to me, appealed to my whimsical nature, and was letting my imagination have free reign. She'd already inspired a piece of music, ostensibly written for her, so now I felt as though I owed her at least my gaze. Imagine my disappointment when four lanky youths came strutting across the midnight garden, knuckles dragging behind them, one clutching a bright orange carrier bag. The girl stood, and there was no trace of apprehension. One held the bag aloft and tipped it back towards his head - he was drinking from it. The others grouped around her, the portrait of frailty and vulnerability she portrayed, nervously pushing her hair back, disappeared and she was animated, movements exaggerated and offensive, devoid of grace and totally at odds with the character I had given her in my romantic misandry. I closed the blinds before I could see her take a drink and began mentally kicking myself.
Music written, performed, arranged and produced by Richard Cannon.
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Reverie Sound Revue :: In the New (Floor Mix)by dingobear1,518 views
This is a great piece, really captures the story well.
BlueEnigma34 10 months ago
Your story gave special meaning to your music. Nice.
shelly2054 1 year ago