still moving Music

There was always a piano in the house. My mother plays.

At some point I started sitting at it and making sounds that were mine.

Then a guitar appeared, broken neck, three strings, none in tune. I was fourteen. I wrote my first piece on it anyway. Not learning, just making.

I was listening to the Beatles, and to a Readers Digest collection of film scores. Shaft, The Godfather, The Magnificent Seven. Something about that combination, pop song structures and music that moves alongside images, settled into me without my noticing.

What I've understood since is this: external things come in, get processed somewhere interior, and need to come back out. Music is how that happens for me. It's not a choice, exactly. More like a necessity.

The connection to images follows from that.

Sound and picture reach the same place through different senses. When they work together, each one carries the other further than it could go alone.