My guess is that like everybody else I'm not listening to any of the youtube tracks posted here.

 

And if its just a handfull of people that bump in every here n there & enjoy unheard new stuff, than this thread got all right to exist.

 

Last edited: Jun 12, 2019

Didn't dispute that it has a right to exist.I didn't say anything like that. Read my words and find the part where I said it doesn't have a right to exist.

 

True, you’re right.

I personally love to get to know new music, dunno why there aren’t more peeps active in this thread. Maybe too less EDM/Rock music.

 

My apologies. I understand what you were saying and it's true, in this era of streaming audio, music moves so fast you can miss some real gems. I find it hard to discover new artists that have real talent, that have one great song that makes you want to find their album and then wow! that feeling when you find that they have a whole album of great stuff and then....what? they have five albums?.... then you have a new world of immersion in new sounds. That's how music should be.

 

No need to apologize. To get to know new Artists, or learn about the musical heritage & evolution of a particular genre, two reasons to take a look into this thread
Be a part of it!

 

This amazing piece of music inspired one of my stories (32)The secret story behind the veil.
It goes to show how music can be visually supported but also inspire literature:

(32) The secret story behind the veil
There is a small room or office. The wooden desk is seen from close. The view is from the left. No other details matter. There seems to be a wooden box. The view is from the front now, up close. It is a wooden box. Someone walks in and sits at the desk. It is not seen who, whether man or woman. The hands open the box, and even before they did, I wish you could hear the heavy melancholy, the very intimate tragic sorrow and the regrets, so, so many regrets. If you could only hear, because otherwise, this unfolds in silence. The movements are moderate yet urgently paced. There is an envelope of folded pages. Someone wrote these with a purpose and this isn’t the first time these hands reach for them. It is not at all certain if the person reading wrote this or if someone else did. The aura and auspices are of a painful and urgent confession of something dreadfully inadequate endured through someone else. Something unfit to remember I’m sure, and that’s why at this point, a thick white veil, something like a very large paper and wooden fan unfold open to conceal and set the stage for this drama in silence. The story becomes felt only in its implications as a moment of tragic horror in very slow and gentle, sometimes wincing undulations that meander their plight meditatively along the folds of your conscience. In the end, when it is over for now in physical reality, and after the events have been relived in horrible memory, the hands put down a pen and refold the pages---no script is visible---and on that moderate pace resumed, somewhat urgent, the heavy melancholy of cello and piano accompany the silent scene of the hands putting everything back in the wooden box and close it. The veil is gone. Nothing threatening is visible. Just the person leaving the small room or office. A close view of the desk, from the front, and the wooden box. The secret story behind the veil is left behind. Many years later, a pair of olden hands put back the envelope into the box, trembling from shock more than from old age. It is not seen who. The same heavily melancholic discourse of cello and piano accompany the silent scene sank in serious and deep trauma. The sound of a rocking chair, a wood framed window, endless fields of green, abundant summer rain streaking the glass, that there is no fire lit and that it is getting quite dark play back again and again to form the veil here this time. All of these together, are stretched out at times to a serene meditative drama, a peaceful tragedy. When it’s like this, nothing else matters anymore. Everything is suspended in time and space. It despairs me to be unable to provide more detailed information. As intimate as the events and memory feel, a terrible injustice permeates, as does some shame, a truly devastating embarrassment. Nothing was ever done and the only thing that ever will is this advice of a terrible consequence whispered to who can hear: enlarge your scope of what you ever thought could be done to you. Listen to your intuition and protect yourself with caution accordingly. When it happens, it happens for good, for real and only small pieces are left forever of what was, like a bulb left broken in its socket. Its half life was a long veiled dusk till eventually darkness formed an obscure envelope to conceal what was either unknown, unheard or unwanted by anyone or anything but so terribly felt by you. By then, you will know that those who get close to you, or left you, in spirit or body, didn’t all love you.

 

Last edited: Jun 12, 2019