We're getting weird (or: How to love music)

There is something important about the concept of anticipation when it comes to music. I am a lover of the "wall-of-noise" sound, but herein lies the beauty of presence and absence. Without the quiet and simplicity which precedes it, a wall of noise is nothing. At times a song can be picking its way along, beautifully, with a fragility all its own. And then suddenly it can be torn apart by a million tracks of guitars, organs, triangles, drum machines, steel drums, vox effects, etc. But for my money there really is nothing better than that moment where you can feel it coming, you know it's supposed to come. You can feel that simple guitar line about to break up. It seems simple and basic now, but that brick wall of sound is about to come. That tension followed by a release in your brain when that little ditty comes crashing down around you is the best thing you can feel in music. That loud/soft dynamic, the crash and splash of cymbals and drums, that moments pause before the band returns to your ears full force. These are the things that make good music, not fashion, not videos, not a good "buzz" surrounding your band. It's the moment you can start breathing because that anticipation is gone is where the money is. The rush of blood that comes along with that big breath is something only notes can do.

Listen to Yank Crime

Love,
john