Lock Down

I’ve been working hard the whole time on things that ask to be gently explored more in the quiet, less in the clamor of the breakdown beat. A lone piano in a basement, or a little awkward jazz on a cheap acoustic in the shade. I think about you, David, I hear you telling me to not lose the time or the break when there is nothing else there to remind of this, save a distant ticking of a clock. I think of you Lindsey, and how I so miss my friends in music. What is there for someone like me, without much to offer in any event, and now robbed of what little stray sense of belonging and community I had before all this? In the quiet think of Paul Carey a lot, how he has long ago blazed every path I now explore on my own, without much to show the way. There are many others in this basement of course, and they whisper to me as I try to keep time, mark the time, do my time. Now, not one of you loves the noise and the bedlam and the salvation of the beat more than I….and a musician needs to be heard, must be heard…but there is she who may never be heard, she who has nothing but a struggle alone in dream and belief so strident as to find her soul in any dungeon. And if that is her true calling, she shall find in that dark moment a way to persist, believing as she must – against the hostile glare of each new morning – that she will somehow, someday sing again.