keskiviikko 27. kesäkuuta 2012

I tried.... I tried!

Just yesterday I decided to do a simple experiment on myself. I decided to live four days, simply lying dead. Not creating a single thing. My goal was to spend four days without writing lyrics, drawing pictures or making any songs. After about four hours, when my friends left home and I was left alone with my whirlpool of imagination and time, things started to get rough. I was making some coffee, and accidentally hit an empty soda can. There happened to be some fluid at the bottom, and it made that funny, ringing sound. I collected five empty cans, filled them with differing amounts of water, and in just few seconds I had my own, custom-made out of tune drumset. I vaguely remembered my experiment, but it was too late already. I took and empty trash can from the bathroom, and started recording some sort of roots/blues/captain beefheart/whatever song (You can hear it here). I decided to start the experiment today, but my mistake was to leave everything on the table, ready to be recorded. Today I made another song, an instrumental one. Why is it so hard for me Not to do a thing?

I believe when it comes to music, images and writing, I am an existentialist. I define myself through my work. Not as achievements that would ensure my value or social status in the eyes of other mortals, not through all the money I get (because I get none). My work is so important to me, because it is always reflective, it is always personal, as deep as it possibly can. It goes through all the bullshit, it is honestly me as vulnerable as I can get, and free to do anything. The power of sounds alone is enough. I must see what other things will be channeled through my fingers, through my heart and spirit. I can't say that they would come from my head, because I can not thing while I compose. I can't even say that I'd actually even compose. These things just flow through me. I don't make them, I am just an obstacle on their path to this world.  I don't know why they come through me, maybe because I'm always open, my antennas up like some gigantic ant.

This work helps me build an image of myself. It helps me see me from the outside, because I can not feel proud for my music. I'm as much outsider to it as anyone else. I can discuss about the manners or patterns, that seem to repeat themselves in the music I have let out, but when I listen to it, I can't imagine these kind of things would be made by Moi. They indeed are sounds that please my ear, they are important to me, because they are some sort of Jungian way of analyzing my own psyche, my subconscious that seems to take interesting forms when it is given the freedom to do anything it wants. I'm just happy it's this instead of burning stuff. There's always some sort of existence of fire in my songs, that's what I see in my head as I play, just images of fire, or sometimes water, which has started to occur just lately, and has aroused my curiosity. Where does this water come from, what is it's purpose in my creative work? The fire has always been some sort of rebellious, cleansing or destructive essence, depending on what sort of music am I working on. Instrumental music is always more interesting to create, but some songs write their own words and then I just let them come out. Tom Waits has compared writing songs to hunting birds or picking up potatoes. I believe he's right. I've written over a hundred songs, and although I may decide "Now I am going to write a song" and I usually end up with one, I can't say it is the same song I heard in my head when I decided to write one. They just give me something out of the bag, and that's what I start to forge, sometimes it's a sword, sometimes it's a plow.

sunnuntai 24. kesäkuuta 2012

About sundays..

For the last 20 years, sundays have been almost without exceptions quite hard for me. Sometimes laying perfectly still helps, but most of the time it just makes them worse. I hear voices in my head, asking how does it feel to have all these hangovers even though you are quite sure you were not drunk yesterday. You sat home, you did not do any drugs, and still your head aches and you're on a continuing guilt trip about all the shit you've put other people through in the past. Is it fair that other people get drunk and fuck something to feel the same? At least they get to be drunk and they get to fuck something. But still, I know, giving in to the self-pity and shame leads you nowhere but down, all the way to the bottom. Of course it's an question of attitude. If you think positive, you won't feel this way. Bullshit. There's so many X-factors on this thing you are never able to acknowledge all of them. Weather is one factor. If you have a shitty weather on sunday, you will without a doubt spend the whole day in some sort of neurosis, listening to Neurosis and feeling psychotic.

Sundays can be happy days. They can be days of cleansation, days of purification of body and mind. Today I've been cleaning my apartment, which is still in progress, because this place looks like train crash site without all the bodies. They left earlier today. But sometimes, when you manage to complete something, manage to write a little piece of music that describes how you feel about sundays, or just have a nice little jam with your friends, it can be purified. Otherwise it'll be lizards and fire and brimstone all night long. This, still, coming from the mouth of an straight and sober dude. I must endure these days, maybe read something.. Or give in, listen to some Neurosis, and perform all the housechores like some ancient rituals of redemption. I must undergo these passage rites to become clean, "thou shalt not hold filthy tablewear in thy sink". I need to take a walk on sundays, usually at night, when everyone else is fast asleep, and I can concentrate on every step, and the music that colors every step with it's spectrum of notes and their nuances.

My friends complain about mondays, but at least you can do some shit on mondays. You may have some work to do, you can go hunt some urban vacuum-packed prey on your plate, you have some actual shit to do and your friends are on the move. Sunday is the day the time has a day off. My perceptions of time are very vague and it keeps melting and twisting and turning around, now the clock says it's monday, but my head says it's still sunday. And I decide to believe my head. I don't know which one is worse for you, but I have music for both of ya. This is my own solo stuff, which apparently sounds a bit like Velvet Underground, whom I have never sacrificed enough time to listen to a whole song to the end. The other song is about Shitty Mondays, it's my friend upcoming solo record, and I had the privilidge to sing this one..

J. Kill & The Starvation Army Marching Band (which is still just me..)
Viljami - Paska Maanantai

perjantai 15. kesäkuuta 2012

About Life

Every single day of this life, to me at least, is a gift. I am always aware of the presence of possibility of non-existence, and no matter how bad cards this life will deal me, I rather take them than fold.  I will enjoy this life to it's bitter, or sour end, because I have no choice. I have never understood truly what it would mean not to exist, and I am not afraid to admit that it scares the shit out of me. I love life. I love every aspect there is to it. Music especially, resonating sounds that can bring forth so much hidden or forgotten emotions, just by vibrating at different frequencies. It is something truly amazing, astonishing, powerfull. As long as I can hear music and let it move some essence of emotions and consciousness inside me, I know I am alive. If I ever get to grow old, I might be one weird grandpa, listening to Neurosis, telling grandchildren stories about the rise and fall of Finnish grindcore, all the acid heads, dope fiends and hobos I have encountered along the way, telling them to listen to their own brain instead of heart, because heart keeps pounding "Fuck something! Fuck something! Fuck something!" but your brain might have something far more interesting to share.

As I consider the chance of simply "not-being", I feel chills down my spine. This is something I've struggled with all my life. The fear of non-existence, not that much the fear of dying. To me it's quite all the same how it will happen, I don't want it to happen at all. The years from 4 to 16 were really, really hard for me. It was constant middle age crisis, kicking and screaming against my mortality. I know I have not accepted it yet, but I hope I one day will. I think it is unlikely to happen, but I hope that through some kind of meditation, through deeper concentration and examination of my own consciousness, I could figure out what this mind, and this life too, is all about. Is it all just subjective, is it all just made for me? Then who would have come up with it, and why all the trouble of creating this world a history of conflicts and dying, is it just to make me aware, to catch my interest so that I can grab it's tail and start educating myself towards this direction? Is this the right direction?

Or do we just share this common delusion of absence of dying, which happens to be conscious life? We tend to think the other way around, that death is actually the could, persistent absence of life, whereas shadow is the absence of light. But to be honest, the universe is filled with darkness and death, and the life and the light are the exceptions to this common rule. It may be reconciling to think that there would be another conscious race cursed with life somewhere there in the space, but it would not matter.. We could probably never reach it anyway.

I know at some level all beings share my fear, it just takes different form in their eyes. They are afraid of the evolutionary signifacant forms of dying, snakes, spiders, darkness, high places, I am just afraid of dying. Becoming just dead matter, giving all my particles away is kind of a beautiful thought, but I love this world, I love being alive, I love music and thinking way too much to let them go. People try to comfort me by saying "don't worry, you won't feel a thing, so it won't bother you". That does not make it the least bit easier, it makes it worse. I want to be bothered, I want to feel and think. Maybe not for eternity, but until I think I have seen enough, until I think I am ready to let go of this life, and can leave with a satisfied mind. Still, one should not let any fear to paralyze. You must always live on, float through this sleepy, but irresistable river of life, enjoy it as long as it carries you..Because one day it won't.