You know what, Vina? I hate you, and I love you. By hating you, I hate myself. By loving you, I hate myself. I am lost beneath your feet, they trampled me and sucked the life out of me. I would say that you are music, but I think you are much more - a manifestation of something else. I would even say that music is, in a way, a manifestation of something else. And this music, our sound and vibe, took on a new form over the last hundred years. A prophetic form and a creating one. It created in us all a sense of wonder that brings upon unbearable pain and allows us the utmost joy at the same time. We are in a state of constant emotional birth - painful and exhilarating.
Salman Rushdie is a not a novelist, he is a fabler - one that tales fables. His reality is close, it’s near by, but still it’s not ours. However, as it suffers from the same misfortunes that our reality suffers from, and as it exhibits the same magic (but slightly different), it’s a mirror, a purified reflection that comes to show us, in this book, what is pop music. Looking at today’s music I wonder if this is still relevant, or are we seeing something totally different today, but still can’t really tag it?
Links:
Wikipedia record
The first chapter of the book