The window allows the clouds to enter the room and the autumn keeps telling us we last longer than the tree leaves. This breeze of life coming directly from the brown corpses is what encourages us, an aspiring band, to dig deep down into our gear for what is hidden inside the wood and the strings.
I never had that many chances to experience what the collective process of music-making was; to be surrounded by musicians thirsting for creating material and trying to express themselves through the structured combination of sound.
Nevertheless, this particular day would linger on in my thoughts, for the naturalness within the music about to blossom was making me feel a part of something, yet also an individual: a friend in disguise. Guitar placed on my back, every step brings me closer to Zega, the nickname given to our kingdom. I walk beside Bryan, whose company will remain by my side during the whole day. Eventually, we arrive in Zega, Kuba is there, but he doesn’t stay for long. The four of us, Clément, Bryan, Andrés and I remain in the main music room talking calmly about nothing relevant to the reader’s eyes, letting the time pass by, until we finally come collectively to a logical conclusion: “so, let’s try to make some music, right?”.
Clément sits in front of his laptop to do what he’s good at; I’m talking about the music production, of course, for he’s the one who turns our humble marble blocks into sculptures, and Helena, who’s one of the fellow composers, is not available for the time being. That’s how Bryan, Andrés and I ended up at an hispano-speaking gathering to talk about how we could approach the relationship towards our acoustic friends and, ultimately, treat them kindly for our own benefit. Finally, we decided to move into Helena’s lonesome room since she was working somewhere else, thus leaving an empty space that would be filled with songs. That’s it. “All hands man your battle stations”. So there we are, Bryan holds his darbuka, I set the guitar on my lap and Andrés is armed with his quill ready to stab the blank pages of his notebook. As long as I start to create a simple harmonic progression, Bryan follows me while playing a gentle rhythm that fits perfectly with the chords. Andrés is still slaughtering his notebook; he doesn’t make a sound. All of a sudden, he lifts the dagger of ink and comes up with this mellow vocal line seasoned with the spiciness of the Mexican accent in his English singing: “Beautiful”, I think. Indeed, it was beautiful. Right away, we decided to record it with Bryan’s phone in order to freeze the experience within the black mirror. I really didn’t know how Andrés was able to write with such great ease. I don’t consider myself a bad storyteller, but simply, what is hidden behind the veil of lyricism and prosody manages to burden my hands when holding the quill, such great beauty that I’m not able to reach. Poetry is, truly, a despicable harlot.
After the usual cigarette break, Helena was finally ready to join us in what was once her room. The dynamics don’t change very much; somebody is writing and Bryan and I are smashing our instruments in a ludic way. Helena wants a sad song, so I do my best to come up with two minor chords that may help her to find the melody she’s looking for. It turns out to be a very hazy harmony for what she had in mind, however my mother always made me understand that you shall not waste food, hence what I had just created would be useful for a consequent RAP song composed in the coming afternoon. In order to finish whatlightly resembled the look and feel of a productive day, we gathered finally the five of us and our dear documentary maker, Valentina, in the main music room for the lyricists to write their texts and Clément to confront Ableton. And I didn’t do anything else.
“What is happening? It was an amazing day! Everybody was involved in the experience, and we were able to create, but I just don’t feel it that way. I wasn’t able to write a single lyric, Clément was barely talking to us since he was occupied with the production process, which I understand. Merely, I would have loved to have been even more involved; it may be my fault, I don’t know yet what I want from this project, what I’m looking for. I think that may be the reason why I’ve been working on my personality and my personal music ever since. I’m just an outsider in music, like everyone else. This project is tough to bear. This puzzle remains incomplete for I am an incomplete puzzle myself.
Written by Guillermo Sanz Blesa