life is short. hair is long.
music is loud.

blood pressure

Once we had a budget for band-aids. And you know what? Pretty much what we got for our efforts was scar tissue. We learned a few things and had some great rides. Now we look around us and the medium is no longer the message. We have reached the post-how society, replacing the method-as-motivator creative philosophy with the why-in-the-first-place creative philosophy. In that sense we have returned to the beginning.

As art need no longer justify its existence with regards to financing distribution, or confronting the empty economics of me-too consumption, it bloody-well better be able to justify its existence with regards to what gives it the fundamental right to clutter up our beleaguered planet in the first place, even as untold examples of superior prior art lie buried in neglect and mis-use.

As always, and more than ever before, copying is not innovation. Exaggeration is not expansion of thought or idea. Repetition is not growth. Going out of your way to pretend that something didn't exist 20, 30, 50 years ago so you can claim to be a pioneer is woefully inadequate when evidence is all around you, that you are not the first, will not be the last and are not the best. Badge engineering is not a sustainable future.

Viral is not a qualifier for talent, skill, virtuosity or craftsmanship. Lemmings rarely matter once they've crested the cliff. The music matters. Yes, the music still matters, while the technical specifications matter less and less.

Looking back over our metaphoric shoulder, the clouds mist as the sun sets. Yet while we collect analogic fruit from the still, cold surface of the warming earth, brushing aside the obvious bits of twigs, leaves and dirt, ignoring many of the bruises and imperfections, we prepare for the feast of ripe proportions, laid before our feet.

At the same time, we witness new buds, new blooms and wounded branches bearing new growth. We stare in wonder at the many nuts that have fallen to the ground around us. We marvel at the sap that runs, year after year through the weathered veins of withered trunks.

At the end of the day, as we listen to the sounds that collect in the dark corners, away from the noise that surrounds us all, we remember that while fashion has its place, wallpaper its purpose and lifestyle its meaning, art—and music—are central to our being, defining our soul.