Music belongs right next to notions like love and God. It’s ever-present, immeasurable and beyond explanation. Igor Stravinsky could discuss the most intimate aspects of music theory, but he would be the first to point out that children and animals understood his music better. No scale, chords progression, or retrograde juxtaposition can be manipulated with the exclusive intent of creating a particular emotion in a listener. This is completely out of the composer’s control. That illusion of control flies out the window as soon as somebody listens to the composition.

How can the same piece of music make somebody sob, while making somebody else unexplainably happy? How can a piece by Wagner make somebody believe in the beauty and greatness of all human life, and at the same time be used as part of the Nazi propaganda, in it’s quest to exterminate it?

While this control over the listener’s emotions is unattainable, the command a composer has over his craft and its extremely dependent link to imagination can hit a nerve in an improbable way.

The way Chico Buarque describes the suicide of a man on “Construção”, so precisely and in three different ways, makes you think about the way you kiss your wife in the morning, as if it was logical; and the way you say goodbye to all your children, as if each was the prodigal son. And what about “O Que Será”? That song defies any attempt of analysis: I have listened to it for the past 15 years, and every single time, I get chills down my spine and ask myself  “how could anybody come up with this?”

That sacred relationship of stimulus and response, which is perhaps where the power of music lies, is beyond comprehension.
The penetrating power of Coltrane’s tenor sax, the disarming beauty of Milton Nascimento’s harmonies supporting his angel-like falsetto, the endless agony contained in the happiness of Louis Armstrong’s voice and trumpet… it’s beyond anything.

What made Duke Ellington struggle to scribble music in hospital napkins while in fragile condition? What made Joe Henderson; hanging on to his life, suffer to assemble his saxophone one last time, taking 20 minutes to go through a process that does not take more than one minute even for a novice? How can it be that Milton Nascimento came up with an unprecedented approach to harmony and songwriting while, as a kid in the secluded mountains of Minas Gerais, he tried to listen to the music in a small radio that barely worked… prompting him to “fill in the blanks” the missing notes? What made Quincy Jones leave behind a life of vandalism the very moment he touched his first piano (while vandalizing a public school in Seattle)? How did Beethoven write nearly all his symphonies with absolute perfection, while being deaf?

I would never dare to commit the stupidity of comparing myself to these gifted musicians, not even in the privacy of my own thoughts. However, they inspire me to achieve one goal: put a tear in your eye, or a smile in your face, as well as any other emotion that lies between and beyond, by writing the best song I can write, every time I write.

 

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