"Ah... what a day," sighed the Maestro as he stepped down from his podium. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to shake off the feelings that had gathered within him, then just closed his eyes and let them play out.
After all, who's to stop them?
I'm convinced music is something universal. You see what I mean? The violin player who scratches his bow across the strings of the violin resting on his chin shakes his head in rhythm and furrows his brow. The perfect fifth being played by those bright brass horns means we win, means victory. Is it because we have been conditioned to think so? Because we see it in all the movies, you know. If so, where'd it come from originally? Someone played those tunes and those feelings came to them, and they became true. It's an approach I need to start taking when I write, instead of wondering why everything I do sounds so forced.
