Mosaic

It is rarely exaggeration to say that writing is catharsis for many. I personally feel that the experience of losing oneself in a musical sanctuary is superior to writing, though I know that I adore both too much to let either go. There is something in effusion that is so raw and candid, that it seems only natural to leave them pristine and untainted.

I had the fortune of chancing upon an interview session with several musicians who came down to Singapore to perform for the Mosaic Music Festival. The interviews were conducted in the oh-so-charming Esplanade library which oozed artistic culture and debonair. A particular artist, Olafur Arnalds from Iceland, caught my attention as a fervently supported musician in the bunch. My interest was therefore aroused and I was promptly introduced to the man's works and productions through the event brochure. He is nothing short of talented, as I believe that I can say with conviction as well for all the other artists performing for Mosaic. When I got home and listened to one of his self-recorded album, I fell in love instantly with the soft melodic instrumental pieces that tell a varied tale of joy, melancholy and hope; for I swore that moment was magic. I am not an ardent fan of instrumental music but this just completely blows me away. Perhaps it was the imperfection in the tunes, or the ebb and flow of the emotions elicited with the masterful employment of crescendos and decrescendos, but I am certain of its distinctive emotional quality. I listened to Living Room Songs, a compilation of composes he had performed and recorded in his living room and uploaded for listeners to download within 24 hours. He mentioned that when he played it back and listened to it again, there were nuances which he would have been tempted to correct, but admits that the time frame prevented him from over-polishing his pieces, and the freedom allowed him to express his music in a stripped down manner so bare and exposed that multiple interpretations of the same song by his listeners he found gratifying.

I confess that my train of thoughts are often derailed enough to border insanity, or that idealism sometimes gets the better of me, or even that I occasionally struggle internally to appear less reticent, to no avail. I wouldn't describe myself as assiduous or sagacious is any sense, but I wished I were more so, because the wandering mind may not be the best trait in a person. What must I do to stay buoyant?