When I visit a fellow musician’s studio, I’m sometimes surprised and scared by the strict, almost military tidiness where any trace of life seems to have been removed.
My musical environment is full of heteroclite objects that have, at first thought, no close relation to music at all. Well, I assume they have, like it or not.
One may ask (and some daring visitors do) why the hell I need a モヤっとボール on my keyboard, if an old chopstick on my sheet-music stand has really the power to make me play at a higher level and if my old Hello Kitty pick truly makes me a better guitarist. And the answer is invariably yes. Yes, a chopstick, a Kitty pick and a モヤっとボール, if they don’t necessary replace hours of practice in terms of virtuosity (something that’s stranger to me anyway), surely have the power to shake the magma of my inspiration and lead me to produce something more exciting, dangerous and slightly more outrageous than if I had been forced to create in a clean, white and neat room.
Those rock-star’s little helpers also include the fluffy chair, the warm strong black coffee or the 70° shot of absinth, the old outdated heavy wooden synthesizer bought during my high-school days, the bass guitar strings coming directly from Ôita-city or the painting of Breughel (well, it’s a copy) facing me every time I sit.
Some rude pals come and say “Hey Snowcat, you collect so much stuff. Why don’t you collect experiences instead? Uh?”
Because the stuff that I collect is an experience in itself. Amen.
I love stuff that is soaked in history, memories and obscure meanings. Practical people see it as stuff, things that waste useful space, while I see and feel it as a connection with something bigger. And I love it.
Actually, I was born on Mardi Gras day. Yes, I guess it’s (a part of) the explanation.
Objects quickly pass from the status of mere stuff to the more responsible one of gris-gris, or lucky charm. Which explains why I need them around. They connect me. They bring me luck and inspiration, since they came from strong experiences. Gris-gris, not stuff.
I was born on Mardi Gras day, and that very moment influenced dramatically whatever happened since that day. And mostly for the best.
I can’t explain better than in music. I asked my gris-gris to take me somewhere once again, and two songs came straight out of it.
May you live the experience as strongly as I did. Listen to the single in streaming and if you want to own it, buy it through CD Baby or Bandcamp (more expensive but the complete artwork is offered as present). And in a matter of days it will spread its evil spells on Amazon, Spotify, iTunes, Deezer and other music online supermarkets. Welcome to Mardi Gras Station!