From the arrival of the Beatles in 1964 to the death of Gram Parsons in 1973, a decade of sound haunts the musical horizon. There was a genuine birth of creativity which exploded in a huge mushroom cloud, spreading far and wide, and over time simply faded away. Though it is true this collection of work still dominates our air waves, the spirit that carried this movement has journeyed elsewhere. So many great talents were introduced to us and then almost as suddenly, drifted back into the Heavens. I look at the losses of Jim Morrison, Brian Jones, Blind Al Wilson, and Gram Parsons as tragic because they lived and died by the beast that made them. John Lennon's life would grotesquely be taken in 1980. Countless more joined this list.
As each year passes, we step further away from those times. It becomes history, American fame be it righteous and bloody, like the Battle of Bunker Hill. To us, their royalty is divine. I assume some call them gods only because we're touched in the spiritual sense. By singing and listening to their hymns, we are recreating the prayer. We bless those who've been so good to us, who've made us happy, and created an illusionary world for us to get lost in. Music itself is a religious experience. It's one of the oldest forms of human tradition, a enabler of stories and ideas to be passed from one generation to another. Music is in our soul.
If those who've long since passed had not been music stars, would they still be alive and nameless? And does their soul find ease in knowing how many people love them? Deep inside, I am saddened by the loss. For some, you hear the anguish from within when you listen close, and here in this medium, they've opened their soul in a heartfelt release. They laid their troubles on the table, exposing themselves, and indeed cutting further into a preexisting wound.
As each year passes, we step further away from those times. It becomes history, American fame be it righteous and bloody, like the Battle of Bunker Hill. To us, their royalty is divine. I assume some call them gods only because we're touched in the spiritual sense. By singing and listening to their hymns, we are recreating the prayer. We bless those who've been so good to us, who've made us happy, and created an illusionary world for us to get lost in. Music itself is a religious experience. It's one of the oldest forms of human tradition, a enabler of stories and ideas to be passed from one generation to another. Music is in our soul.
If those who've long since passed had not been music stars, would they still be alive and nameless? And does their soul find ease in knowing how many people love them? Deep inside, I am saddened by the loss. For some, you hear the anguish from within when you listen close, and here in this medium, they've opened their soul in a heartfelt release. They laid their troubles on the table, exposing themselves, and indeed cutting further into a preexisting wound.
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