music - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The music is my external heartbeat and the lyrics are my soul in sweet vibrations; I could sing forever these poetic words, my ode to the universal love and one another, to nature and creation. Yet all of it is right there when in that momentary exchange of glances, when our eyes meet and we smile from within. So though the world may love my music, my words and these songs, music really only lives in those intense moments of love we give without ever trying, those looks that are barely glances, in the bond we made so accidentally. Love is music without volume, but it's also a seed that grows to form infinite branches, roots and blooms, and through my soul, through this sense of intuition that demands a voice, the part of music we can hear, what the world thinks of as music, is born.
There are times it feels as if the music is teaching my brain how to flow, how to be so peaceful. It's as if the slowly changing tone touches different parts, a sort of auditory massage for my mind. It is an invitation for slowness and to feel the presence of myself, the ever patient version of me who waits to be spoken to, and is content to do so. There are times light, wind and nature do the same, yet differently, each in their own way. Today is a day of music, to feel the soul within.
Music fills the air without effort, like the waves filling holes in beach sand; the sound rushing in and around every person in the room. Some react to the beat, others continue in chatter, but always it speaks to them in some manner. A lively tempo can lift them, elevate the spirit, or move them to dance, whilst a slow one can relax the mood. Before the notes filled the air every person was an island, with it they all feel the same tidal flows and the beginnings of togetherness feels warm.
Johnathan looked over the crowd. There must have been at least one hundred people watching him, bathing in the dim purple light of the club, as he clutched tightly to his cherry red Gibson Memphis. Nerves were trying to take over his body, but it only improved the pizzicato of his performance. His heart kept time with the drums, pumping the music through his veins as he lost himself in the performance. Eventually, he lost all sense of everything except for the music.
The lyrics swim through my cerebral cortex like a wakeful dream, the notes relaxing me, enabling the song to call to my entire being. Music could never be something superfluous to me, it is medicine delivered in the most divine way.
The great thing about music is that it didn't save your life, it gave you strength and will power to save your own life; thats the beauty of music.
Music is the rhythm of my soul. It flows through my veins and swirls in my head. It makes my fingers drum and my feet tap. It transcends the everyday monotony to make each fresh morning a new journey of sounds. My voice is my instrument and I can't live a single day without singing. To me music is life and life is music. It's in everything I see. It's in the air I breathe. It's in my DNA.
The music soared through the air like an eagle on an up-draft, taking with it the very souls of the listening audience. They ascended together in a magical flight to the heavens, a breathtaking melody of orchestral exuberance. Then after the crescendo they dived back down, giddy, their breath stolen from their bodies, until all that was left was the silence there was at the beginning. It was a shared journey that held them spellbound in rapt silence. Then like a tsunami the applause rolled forwards to the musicians and the conductor took a bow.
Can you name something that always manages to wake you up on monday mornings? Can you name something that is always there at a flick of a button? Can you name something that can change a person's mood so instantly? No? Well I can... Music. The variety of music in the universe is so diverse that there is something for everyone to enjoy. Music doesn't worry about leaving someone out. She has allowed there to be a song, a lyric, a melody for everyone to connect to. The topic of conversation, she can get even the timid involved. She is the tension disappeared from an awkward silence, the fun in a long car journey, the release from society, the saviour to an addiction, life. She's seen it all before and it won't be long before she helps another person, in need of saving.
The latin music cranks my joy right up, hijacking my brain. Somehow the scent of lavender get's infused with the beats and feel like I'm dancing in Adri's garden again, a chilled bottle of wine on the deck table and glasses in various states of being emptied.
I could eat the air and drink the music, so heady is the fragrance of the saffron rice and the melody of the sitar. The sun is hot in a way that dries the soil underfoot and warms everything one touches from the wooden table to the metal cups.
Lila lived for music. If she could hear it played live she began to tingle, even for a solitary instrument. There was something about the vibrations that felt so heavenly, as if it were liquid energy seeping right through her skin. Her mother said it was because she was blind, that her mind over compensated, but Lila swore she'd be just the same way with or without sight. Perhaps that's why she learnt to play so well, she felt it, craved it, expressed emotions better than any of her peers.
They needed a second chair violinist. The orchestra leader had nine apply for the position. I was a few minutes late, so I was listed number nine. The large auditorium made the applicants and the leader seem small as I entered from the back. I was motioned down, and an assistant seated me next to number eight, a woman. The auditions went well, with only two missing notes, or three with really bad timing. However, all choose medium difficulty pieces. When I was called up, the maestro asked me my name and where I was from. Neither bit of information impressed him. “What will you play?” “Paganini’s Caprice 5.” He looked up, and smiled. “This is not for the first chair, Sir. Why Caprice 5, and why Paganini?”
“Maestro, I want you to know up front that you have hired a violinist who will not only be acclaimed the world over, but one you discovered.”
“Oh, will you now? Well, let us hear your Paganini Caprice 5.” I played. I was hired. The conductor asked, “Where did you learn to play like that?”
I looked up, “Attica State Prison -Cell block 9. Inmate 99-999.”