Music, said Ludwig van Beethoven, the legendary composer and pianist, is the mediator between the life of the senses and the life of the spirit. It is also a powerful catalyst in the creative process of the genius, the connoisseur, the proficient, and the average, among us. It is the art of thinking with sound. It begins when words leave off. As philosopher Plato put it, in perspective, music is the most potent instrument than any other — for the mind and body alike. What’s more, music is quintessentially the highest form culture and expression — it allows us to feel connected to everything marvellous.
Music is an uplifting experience — it is far more precise than words. It is akin to floating the language of being, and sound, into your subconscious. It is not one-dimensional; it is multi-dimensional, as Lord Byron paraphrased so succinctly with all his profound wisdom and impeccable poetic licence, There’s music in the sighing of a reed;/There’s music in the gushing of a rill;/There’s music in all things.”
Great Music
Frank Albert Sinatra (December 12, 1915-May 14, 1998) was a revelation of such an outlook—a man who did his music his own way. His saga was huge; not wieldy. It encompasses just too many songs, too many moods, too many aeons of time. But, it’s great music — music like no other. It’s Sinatra’s own. So much so, when you speak of Sinatra’s music, it is next to impossible to verbalise it without superfluous hyperbole.
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