it was just another classic morning, what with the cold sharp air and the glassy sky where the sun shot rays across the edge of the mesa, and the traffic hummed down the interstate swathed in the redolent fumes of spent hydrocarbons while quiet mountains reposed in the near distance brooding and waiting for geology to prod them elsewere.
“Basically there is nothing more beautiful than the smell of a 19-year-old.”
a 19-year-old what?
“To write a song, to perform one, requires faith-
faith that words will come and true emotion will rise from the
subconscious. There’s faith in something else, too- that someoone will hear the song,
and it will matter.”
from an essay in the new Oxford American, “Fate and a Jukebox”,
by Philip Stephens.
This Much I Know
it was just another classic morning, what with the cold sharp air and the glassy sky where the sun shot rays across the edge of the mesa, and the traffic hummed down the interstate swathed in the redolent fumes of spent hydrocarbons while quiet mountains reposed in the near distance brooding and waiting for geology to prod them elsewere.
“Basically there is nothing more beautiful than the smell of a 19-year-old.”
a 19-year-old what?
“To write a song, to perform one, requires faith-
faith that words will come and true emotion will rise from the
subconscious. There’s faith in something else, too- that someoone will hear the song,
and it will matter.”
from an essay in the new Oxford American, “Fate and a Jukebox”,
by Philip Stephens.
That 19 y o line struck me too.
And the advice was from Noel Coward, I believe, I forget to whom – possibly the young Larry Olivier.