I want to make sad, soulful music with my acoustic guitar. No major chords. No sing-song melodies. I want to make it to express my failures as a man and the miseries of the world. Thumb plucks and rattling strings. My gravel voice and coal raking fingernails. Just to release some of the heavy, burdensome emotion that threatens to burst inside. Climb the heights of craggy cliffs of feeling to be dumped over the edge in low, strained harmony. Thrash the waiting steel and basswood until it changes into a steady streamline of sound. Scream and moan for the pain of existence.
And as my fingers stretch and contract, flying like live things over the neck and body of my guitar, I will feel satisfied and revealed like a mighty river released from a dam or a secret shared. Alone, I will be finished.
That sounds well and good but I like when you sing Jars of Clay late at night.
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