My Music

These days a lot of people ask me what kind of music I want to make. 

I usually say something vague. They don't understand and I agree. 

Today I found out. It won't be easy, but all good things come to those who work. 

I was walking by the ocean. I went there to listen to Sigur Rós on my Ipod, because I wanted to bring the music  home. It reminds me of mountains (but we don't have any of those in Denmark) and the sea. Makes me long to see Iceland. I know this ocean well. This is where I grew up. Where we'd go for walks with our dog, holding my mothers hand, playing with my brother. When I reached the light grey, whet sand I found a shell to draw with. Some weeks ago I did the same thing on the Valencia beach with Kate Bush in my ears. Today I added stones to the composition. Mostly because they were in the way. (You can see the drawing if you scroll a lot downwards). 

And the ocean welcomed Sigur Rós. How nice to take music back to where it belongs!

The above has a point. 

Later when the sun had set and I had just parked my scooter in the barn, I accidently looked up. The whole day, whole week, whole month it seemed at the time, I haven't been able to see anything besides a woolen, greyish blanket covering the sky. Like before a new act in the theater. Only grey.

But I was the remaining audience. Around me I heard the forest letting go of drops they'd collected during the rain. It was like small beats. And I felt surrounded by something very old and loyal. The trees were so tall, as if they wouldn't let me have a look. But in between them I saw my music and finally concluded: 

"I want to make music that sounds like stars."

I'm sure Sigur Rós had a similar experience on that dramatic island of theirs.  

Do you think curious people will have a clue, next time I'm asked?

Nope. 

But that's okay.

For I will.  

Rebecca