Un ragazzo chiamato Bi
Living JazzIt #11 [Empatee du weiss]
Music travels, by design, across space and time. We’ve all got ancestors who followed sirens into the sea, who sang to sleeping goats, who heard drums rolling over distant hills. And now we can tote astonishing quantities of sound around in our pockets, stored on little devices that don’t even need wires to whisper in our ears.
In a lot of places, though, music still echoes through tangled streets and bounces off cobblestones. And if you follow its trail, you’ll find the glorious, human throb of it all — smudged brass, busted strings, breath and sweat and spilled wine.
Modern tech makes it possible to be entirely alone with a song, out in wilderness or on a jam-packed subway. But there’s simply nothing like finding your way into a song that’s still being made. It’ll twang a nerve at the base of your spine that resonates for years with the memory. You’ll never forget the bass, the refrain, the tok! of glass on wood when the singer takes a quick sip and puts down the drink. This is the sort of longing that keeps you out far too late on a weeknight. This is the human experience; there are no regrets. This is living.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, Jenn Wilson and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
