Only The Echoes Are Ringing

Last night I uploaded a new piece of music to SoundCloud. This one is different from the rest. I eliminated the piano track that these tracks were recorded for. On a whim I muted it and listened  I hadn’t done that before. I sometimes muted and recorded over tracks but not the main one! I like how it sounded and decided to keep it that way. So what you are hearing is 5 tracks of background music! Only I can imagine the missing track!

You can also hear all of the music and watch the videos at my website sonniquick.net

You can subscribe to my music mailing list at my website. Having the support of people who listen is the only way of knowing if you enjoy what I’m doing. You can download any of the music right now for free. That might change after my book is published because they will be tied together. Indie musicians don’t have contracts with producers who advertise.

You can follow the videos to my Youtube channel – or search for Sonni Quick Piano Improv – which would be great – so you can subscribe and hit that cute little bell to hear about any new videos I post – about twice a month

Peace and Love!

SoundCloud – Picking Up Broken Pieces

I recently put a blog post on my other blog that has a new piano recording in it. I wasn’t going to reblog it, but you can read it here if you want to. Today I only wanted to focus on the music.

My dream from very early childhood was to compose the most beautiful music in the world. A childish dream but never forgotten. I didn’t play well at the age of 7, but I could hear it inside me. I just didn’t know how to get it out. Even as an adult, through years of playing professionally and practicing every day it still wasn’t there yet. I have stacks of songs I wrote and lyrics and piano arrangements but it still wasn’t what I heard inside.

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Then I lost it all. I thought I was done. My piano gathered dust for 12 years. I lost my identity. At least I thought I did. I didn’t know who I was. I had always known, “I was a musician.” I felt I had lost the right to call myself a musician. I felt like a part of me had been amputated and it was a painful blow to my life. 

Then Jamie Cummings entered my life – the man in prison from my other blog. Through years of knowing him, his pain was stronger than mine. Then I nearly died in need of a liver transplant. That pain was like none I’d ever felt before. The recovery was very long and some of the damage done is what it is. Pain and I are good friends. It let’s me know every morning, I didn’t die in my sleep.

But something changed. I needed a way to express the pain. Not what I was feeling about me, but the pain I carried for Jamie – his pain and his loss. No one who should was recognizing his pain. It is a horrible pain when you realize that the people who should have cared – didn’t, and you are left to rot.  Because without any love at all you begin to die inside. People told him, “I don’t write to you or help you because it hurts ME so much that you are in there.”  That doesn’t make any more sense today than it did the first time I heard it. He and I understood our pain.  Even through the hell he lived in he worried more about me than about himself. Where does a friend like that come from?  How could I let him down, no matter what people thought?

I started to play again. I can’t really explain it, but instead of creating music from the outside by developing a cord structure and building a melody around it, I crawled inside the music and let it play itself. My fingers know what to do like a typist knows a keyboard. I knew what I was feeling so I mentally got out of the way and let my fingers express it. I don’t listen while I play. I just play. I hear it in the background like it comes from somewhere else. I record everything I play. I sometimes don’t listen back for days so I can hear it as something new. I can never replay anything because I improvise as I go. After that it is gone.

When I listen to music I recorded 2 years ago and those recorded recently, I can hear the progress and it is getting closer to what is inside. I’m not done yet. Where is it going? I don’t know. The process and progress is exciting. There ARE advantages to aging – experience. The more I immerse myself in the emotion I want to convey, the more that feeling emerges. Yes, there is, technically, an occasional wrong note – but are they really wrong notes?

I enjoy sharing my music with people who want to hear it. I know it may not be everyone’s style. Even listening once means a lot to me. You sharing it from soundcloud or anywhere else puts it out to new people. More people hear it. Leave a comment. Add a like. Stats are the name of the game. Who says a 62 year old woman is too old to keep creating something new?

Put your head back. Close your eyes. What does it make you feel? Play it again. Where does it take you? Can you do that for me?

 

 

What Happened To The Word Thank You?

Our world is going to hell in a hand basket. As I write these words I wonder where they come from: hell in a hand basket. Maybe it’s because as we go down this slippery slope of not caring about each other we wrap it up in pretty paper and pretty words and add pretty flowers that smell oh so sweet! and it hides the rotten smell of what is inside.

It’s everywhere. People you think should love you, and they say they do, but delight in negative gossip because it makes them feel better about themselves because their life never amounted to a hill of beans. Maybe this is why so many older people are so bitter because they think they reached the point they are too old to do begin anything new. 

I’ve talked to quite a few people and asked them about their families – trying to find a family that isn’t dysfunctional. But I found there aren’t any. Whenever you get beyond a small family, where there are sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, etc., the nitpicking, and jealousy comes out. Family thinks they have the right to judge you and the right to gossip so much more than your friends do. Maybe we are more careful with our friends because they can leave us in a heartbeat, but we expect our family to try to understand us and love us because we are tied by blood. We think they are “supposed” to love us and then we’re hurt because they don’t. So we wait, thinking someday they’ll see the light, but they never do. Our bad, thinking that will happen.

I’m not very good at superficial relationships where the conversation never gets any deeper than the weather. In a large gathering of people the main topic of conversation revolves around each others jobs while we politely listen to each other is rapt attention. We don’t know each other. We rarely talk to each other holidays and getting together to actually get to know each other doesn’t happen because there is no time. But we say, “Of course, I’ll call you and we’ll get together real soon,” but it never ever happens.

And I’m expected to keep trying. They’re family!

The man Jamie I write about at My Name is Jamie. My Life in Prison also has a large family. He’s been locked up since he was 16. He’s 33 now. His own mother never answers his letters because it hurts HER too much because he’s in there. The rest of his family can’t even put a stamp on a birthday card. His hurt has been devastating. Then it made him numb. But I’d bet they’d all say they love him. Love him why? How do they show it?

Is there anyone out there that has a large family where everyone loves each other? How do they show it because I’m confused. I’d sure like to meet one, where there isn’t someone who gets talked about and lied about, behind their back and forth from one cell phone to another. Do you have family members who insist they are nice people, but they just can’t be nice to you,’right now’. Don’t pressure them and maybe they’ll be nice to you later, in a few years, if they think about it. Do you have family members who treat you with indifference and then say it’s your fault, because you had the audacity to actually expect them to do something they said they would do, but just can’t get around to it, and you had the nerve to ask them why? Do you have family that have lost the ability to say, “Thank you,” when you have done something special for them, a gift from your heart to theirs and you wait to perhaps hear what they thought about it, and they don’t even acknowledge you gave it to them? I’ll give it to you instead

Anyone who has read this blog knows I record improvised piano music. Except for my mother, no one has ever taken the time to listen to it. I’m 61 years old. No other family member has ever heard me play in my entire adult life. I’m assuming my sisters heard me practice as a kid. If you go to the Sound Cloud and scroll down a few pieces you’ll see “Graduation Day”. That was my gift. Something else . . . If you think I’m wrong or if you think I’m overreacting, let me know, because I am at a loss. This has made me very unhappy and out of a sense of self preservation all I can of is to just cut them out of my life like a hanging toe nail I keep banging on the end of my bed.