The Muzi Diaries 2

What confused and worried and frustrated him was where it all went. Though still there, it wasn’t exactly the great grandchildren of Tin Pan Alley and the Brill Building or those wonderful uptown Motown and Staxed sounds.

This concerned my friend, because other than extremely few caring whether it was a sharp or a flat or something very much diminished and in need of mouth to mouth resuscitation, he was convinced that the music had been silenced and thrown under the bus or swept under the carpet of time for reasons he knew but didn’t understand.

“We all need music”, he would say to me, “but there’s nothing around that has any soul to it”. In fact, the soul seemed to have been ripped out and replaced by more technocrats instead of the free form room to roam of bebop and Lalalula and reggae and fab jelly babies inspired to evolve and stretch into rhythmic musical revolution evolution and a Savoy Truffle.

What my friend talked to himself about, and which also meant bringing me into the conversation was how clutter was not allowing music to flow naturally and into the hearts and minds of people. It had somehow become an afterthought or not a thought at all. It was not being replenished and nourished and given a much needed shot of adrenaline and rhythm and blues and every other colour of the rainbow.

“Music is magic and powerful juju”, believed my friend. “People must be able to FEEL this magic by making the time to listen to what the songs are saying through words and handclaps and the very basics of what makes music real and honest and really honest! It needs to breathe and not be suffocated!”

And with that, he took the mystery train, got off at the crossroads and bought back Robert Johnson’s 99th song from Mr Jitters and handed it to Mr Tambourine Man.

Maybe one day, I’ll tell you what happened after that.

For now, let’s just say that music started to spread its wings and soar again.

Copyright  Hans Ebert and HansEbertisgardening.com