Music is the most powerful existing form of art. The loudest. The most rudimentary and essential. The most “democratic”; the one we all share.
Men and women moving their bodies to the rhythm of sweat and bachata. Ethiopian jazz. Musicians playing on the street creating melodies using glasses with water. The table of a bar in an Andalusian town and the cante jondo that originates from within the deepest part of a person that’s been seemingly sitting there for generations. Sabina, Calamaro, Silvio Rodriguez, Lou Reed, and the millions of other talents that have done exactly whatever they wanted with words. Raves fueled by color and deep electro house. Pleasant talks with Miles Davis, a hot cup of coffee, and autumn on the other side of the window. A long kiss, mixed with Ericka Badu. The clavichord illustrating a medieval renaissance full of excess and overindulgence. Paul, John, George, Ringo and enough said.
A Chinese population celebrating 4,000 years of life accompanied by the sound of the erhu, played by a 15-year old girl that knows all of Nicky Minaj’s dance moves. A jazz band in New Orleans celebrating the life of someone who passed away. A group of children dancing, with happiness and without rhythm, to the lyre at the shores of the Mesopotamia, a few thousand years ago.
Something happens to us as humans when an ensemble of sound is arranged in time. My theory is simple: what happens is that it makes us happy.
Our journal is a platform to share the things that make you smile.
And music makes us smile.