In 2002, at a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert in Brisbane, I overheard a guy explain to his girlfriend that - in order to truly appreciate Flea’s bass playing - she needed to “listen to the notes he’s not playing.”
At first, what he said sounded profound. But his deathly earnestness and suburban nu-metal energy (KoЯn sweat band) discredited him and for years I mimicked the line whenever Under The Bridge came on in the pub.
20 years on I can set that aside and relate to what the guy was feeling when he said it.
The world’s full of people and machines who are technically proficient. But technical proficiency doesn’t stir emotions.
The magic is picking the bit that matters. Letting it breathe. Giving it exactly what it needs and nothing more.
A urinal, pulled out of a bathroom and put on a plinth.
An oyster, shucked and Tasbasco’d.
New furniture, so nice that your old furniture makes you physically sick.
Once perfection is reached, adding anything else is superfluous: an unwanted explanation, a fussy vinaigrette, a note that never needed playing.
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