Vineyards

 

’27’ is a tricky age for a rockstar, it can be interpreted as his puberty in a way, and to say that Morrison or Cobain were a little immature circumscribing their successful attempts at self righteousness, with all due respect, can’t be totally unjustifiable. Imagine if ‘The 27 Club’ did not exist, well I would not want that either, the concept is indeed very enigmatic to the appeal of a rockstar (meta-circling), it is like the satellite of love orbiting the spaced-out, slipping-away personification of the ‘rock’ in that star, but imagine if the club didn’t have as many members, say Morrison, Cobain, Hendrix, Janis Joplin and maybe more of them were still alive, the kind of culture we’d have today! Even though, Led Zeppelin and Floyd have held the front with their very best but still as I always say, there is no limit to human satisfaction and we poor souls can still be deemed innocent for wishing an ‘alien’ and unearthly(more on that tangent later) talent to have lasted longer for an even better world.

Well, for that matter of fact, life is tricky for a rockstar, I have to mention Lennon, Jon Bonham, Rick Wright, Bob Marley, Warren Zevon, George Harrison, to name a few, phew!

I mean, look at Jerry Garcia, (or Lou Reed, written prior to his death and may his beautiful soul Rest In Peace, the man had an epic voice) keeping alive his respective laid-back country (or velvet-rock cultures), how much can you expect of the one man holding up the front, whatever he does is enough, but again, the ‘what if…” just knocks down every inch of wood on the front door of your ‘could be’ happiness. The ones left often soothingly question my conscious if it has traded its heroes for ghosts, hot ashes for the trees, hot air for the cool breeze, cold comfort for change, and I am just helpless enough to drown in that dilemma, everybody is.

I wish for an unbounded contention, no limits, no trade-offs, no questions at all, I do. Even though inside, every molecule of my existence knows that it can only get limited entertainment, it is a self responsibility to put it to the best use and stand to be happy by it rather than pondering over the wire like a kite running kid on the Palestinian border.( Point me at the sky and let it fly.)

Maybe on a day when you are bored the fuck out of your senses, but I’d still say on a day where you think you’ve reached the upper bounds of your enlightenment and, or contention just pick up any artist, say Hendrix, and a random album of his, say ‘Feed Back’ and hear out till the end. “Wah Wah Hush Now” “Flashing” through your senses. It really defines the term “amazing”, rather re-defines it. And it will last day and night in your mind. This feeling of elation that shivers through is just because of music, earlier in the day I was thinking about god as I was supposed to pick up a smart businessman, a ‘pandit'(priest), in our local language, to perform at a sanctimonious occasion hosted by my innocent and a bit religiously blind parents and I arrived at the point where in busy traffic I started talking to myself. “There is no god. Religion surely exists, but there is no god. Religion has to exist; people need it to be enlightened, and motivated.” A perfect adulated symbolization for faith and hope, something to believe in. When your life is going down the drain, or you are way beyond ecstasy, you need something or someone and god is always there. For me, I find all these emotions merrily in music itself. When I need more faith, my life sucks and so does my job and I need some hope and au contraire when I am in the extreme best of moods, I listen to music. Or maybe any other as mundane feeling. By Now, my anonymous iTunes playlist had scrolled down to the end after playing “Away in India” by Jim Morrison, and I suddenly realised my favourite trait of nature, meta, as I thought of Morrison. Hint: Co-incidence.

And, I had a little Glenlivet left. So, I continued with Whipsnade, another wonderful track by Suede, which sounds like the lovechild of The Smiths and Porcupine Tree. Back to where I was, at the times I am really happy, elated and all by myself, all I do is listen to music. I am, in a way, one of those people devoted to music. It is my favorite pass-time. And, it was all coming up to me, like I was sitting on the shore of my being, and each wave came and went as if it were blank but still each one said so much. Music is the one thing without which my life would be incomplete, whatever may happen in my life, the day I come to know that there in no more music for me, and by “no more” I do not mean that no more new music because I can do without that and nor do I mean that I have lost my hearing abilities because the same goes for that, I am talking about the day I cannot feel music which in this lifetime will never come, but for the sake future lifetimes, again uncertain, in such a situation I would be at the peak of my helplessness and consequential to finding nothing else to resort to on this planet I would really kill myself. I will commit suicide and trust me nothing else can make me do that. Bottom’s Up. And I laughed inside my head. “Sacrifice Of The Moon(In Four Parts) by Ultimate Spinach just ended.”

Lost listening to Hey baby by Hendrix, I realised how wonders come and go, someone people just miss out on them and the others thereafter simply miss them. In your one lifetime on the planet Earth you never heard Jimi Hendrix*, man! Did you miss out on something!

(* Pink Floyd/Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan/System of a Down/Led Zeppelin/Nirvana/The Doors/ Clint Mansell/Bryan Ferry. It goes on and on. I won’t mentioned Radiohead though. :/ )

Literally like angels from above, and in one form or another, for someone or the other, they come and go. Life changes it’s themes, sometimes well balanced like a perfect sangria on a summer day, sometimes as plain as a Chenin Blanc, not totally insipid, and sometimes as a deep as Sauvignon Rouge, deep, meaningful, entangled, onerous, entertaining, amusing and miserable. And these angels guide you through those bittersweet trips.

Imagine Johnny Cash singing Death Of A Disco Dancer. And, it happened totally randomly that I was reading a novel titled “There Is No God” by Khushwant Singh as I thought of penning these thoughts down. And, I believe in my lifetime I should create the Bible for music, a central religious text like the Quran or the Guru Granth Sahib or the Bhagavad Gita. Obviously, this one’s going to be called something not yet esoterically established. I have few people in mind who I would want in on this responsibility of mine, more of a purpose now. And after finishing that maybe I’ll just pass out. Ironically enough the song that is ringing through my ears at the moment is called Heroin, be the death of me. Perfect.

Or just listen to Going to California.

That does sound a bit too far-fetched but yes this one is mostly about music.

This one’s a graph plotted with music and the fecundity that is probed when I reach the bounds of expectation. And, yes that is the thing about expectations. Imagine you are doing the most remarkable act of your lifetime, and Led Zeppelin was playing live, what would you choose. My answer is going to be both, together. Led Zeppelin should’ve been playing live whilst I did the most remarkable deed of my being and that would be the epitome of my tumultuous bewilderment. Otherwise you would be just killing time and you would rather be questioning yourself whether strangling your own throat with your tiny hands would be worth it or not. The point is that these sweet joys of listening to music and music being a quintessential part of life is always taken for granted but it innocently sweet when I see someone post a picture of Ray Manzarek or write something about George Harrison on their death anniversaries and thus will the haunted spirits of these vintage rock stars bring us joy till the end of our eternity.

 

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