grumpy bears make grumpy music

Yes. I am angry unto the suns. I curse at the moon and shout down the stars with my hate-filled bile. I’ve been reading Warren Ellis again; does it show?

I am angry, not because of Ellis and the thousands of pages of fine literature leant to me by the immortal Mr. David Miles. No. I am angry because I don’t know why I put the notes in a row.

To recap: I like to think that I can make music, using my fine computing machine. You can hear samples of these attempts just there, to your right.

The problem is that I don’t know WHY they are what they are. I conjure them out of whole cloth, regurgitating this and that and the other thing and trying to sound like whatever I want to sound like that day. Generally, I am pleased with the results. But the notes. The goddamn notes. I do not have the knowledge to process the Cs, Bs, G#s. I can make stupid house music. It goes thump. I cannot make music that soars, that sings choirs back to angels and makes them weep.

I must learn.