the inner journey
It's barely 3 am... the amps are off, the lights are down, alone in my room... the band house struggles to become quiet as the laughter and murmurs of intimate conversations dwindle into all things erotic. The roar of rehearsal fades into a sweet ringing in the ears... as if on cue someone drops a glass bottle and I am struck. In spite of the friends, fans and nightly rehearsals that invariably turn into Dionysian festivals of celebration... I reach for my guitar and realize that being a musician is ultimately a solitary endeavor... alone with your psyche and your instrument, revolving the eternal rubic cube of musical math... alone. The full impact of these thoughts brings a surreal sense of the spiritual as my hand glides easily over the neck and the melancholy blues phrases float in the air - and then there's a delicate knock at the door... "I know you're in there, do you need anything?"
From the movie Red Violin...
"This instrument is my masterpiece. It is perfect.
I made it for our son, Anna. He will be a musician.
He will live for music.
He will bring us pride... and beauty to the world."