Music & Film By Dean Omori
In the last 60 years music has strained and roared, it has disowned us, empowered us, released us, defined us and it drives us all home. *Music has given us a soundtrack to live in, the symphony for love, a score for both pregnancy and suicide and a soundscape for happiness and longing. It provokes prejudice, anarchy, freedom and justice. Music can make your skin shiver, your tempo shift and your love organs come to life. It is no better to a rich mans ears than for that of the poor. Music is the choreographer of dance. Yet music evokes all of this without being touched or fully understood; *it is airborne, it is ephemeral, it is dream theory and then it is gone…
But I am scared by the banality of modern music and its reason to be. *They’ve stolen its honesty, rendered it superficial, a commodity worthless, a gameshow, empty gesture, a competition, an advertising tool, *Money makes you God or irrelevant.
But what of music’s utter sublimity, it’s profound tragedy, its hedonistic glory, the treasures that come not immediately, but brew upon your soul with time and love. *The music that forces you to pull over and cry unashamedly, to fill you with the full force of life, and in time music shall return you to a moment with intense accuracy. *Our musical collective of this world is enormous, life affirming, varied, vibrant, grinding, intelligent, sad and wild; *so filled with dreams and instinct that it burns with the self same energy *that once lit mankind’s greatest journeys.
But if music is anything, then it is defiant. *It is stitched into the lub-dub of every heart. Music is quite simply our greatest gift to the world. *And I hear it alive and inventive in cafes, in clubs, on street corners on rooftops, online and offshore, deep inside your head, on your lips, in the harmony and disharmony of lives and our loves. *Our musical presence is emanating through the walls of motel rooms on bad speakers, on the low end beats teenage cars, handed around on earphones. *It lives for us on the curves of her rhythm, the gravel of her voice and on the bass of his words. *Let it be invented in bedrooms, in prison yards, with attitude and reason, make it without time signatures, play off the notes, dream it, live it, bend it, break it, offend God, don’t apologize, turn it up, record the cries and the agonies of love. *Bang buckets, spit bars, scream, sing, slam, damn your soul and condemn your body, *let your music be free!
All children can sing, make new music, let it lift you, make you better, turn it up, shout back at thunder, move your body and soul. *Lose the company. Find the rebel, lose the pretence and the genre. Be proud, not instructed, be creative. Its only music, learn how to hear it all over again *and throw the whole fucking world at this beautiful thing we do to the silence.