By Andr s Valdivia (Article rescued from a magazine "Capital" 2005) For some time now, I wonder what it's all about. Maybe I say music lovers should be declared persona non grata by the State or persecuted as Christians in ancient Rome to be eradicated permanently and definitively. Yes, because as you fall in love more and more music, more distant from the world and its emergency and trivia. Far from being a virtue, this issue is a viral disease symptom-controllable, but incurable in its essence as it moves through the bloodstream, one feels more serious and only marginal.There is something awful in the chronic bad temper that we bring those obsessed slope of the track for inhabiting this world is our fault and nobody else. And what's this all about I wonderwhen the wedding party starts where I went last week. The DJ insists the songs cut in half for the next hit pachanguero which also will be cut roast beef in a continuous musical coitus-interruptus. Looking at the people and enjoy your wonderful dancer, I wonder if this grace not to touch the whole song is the great secret Tantric an unforgettable party (to continue the metaphor carnal) or it simply responds to the absolute failure that we have developed to bond emotionally with something for more than two minutes. Looking to pass everyone much better than I'm going to feel like the rat Orthodox where I been changing and I just want to invent a vaccine for the disease. Historically, music was always more associated with the conclusion that any intellectual consideration, without doubt. But as civilization progressed, art and music were growing in density and creative intent, which was creating a divide between those who assume that something else is behind the emotional alchemy that produces the music and those who like entieden an embellishment or a tele-transporter nostalgic (to Star Trek) to a past and supposedly jovial clear and sincere. But times inevitably make the sounds emanate from them, and would inevitably wonder this interconnected world, with increasingly closer distances between points and places where humans enjoy, paradoxically, less and less time will not affect the way we hear or how the music sounds. Perhaps there is no time for a good song, or a piano sonata, which implies a redefinition of genres.You may exaggerate "is one of my favorite occupations, but the day that the industry of mobile ringtones is larger than the disk or songs via the Internet, then we know we've reached a tipping point, the point that will fix our voracious changed the way that we were excited. Looking at things from this perspective, I wonder if there will be space for discs as Blinking lights of the U.S. band Eels. A long drive and even redundant, but full of good music and true intimacy. Or if the acoustic rabidly tribulations of Martha Wainwright and beautiful (yes the sister of Rufus) in his eponymous new board will have any future published in our ears and hearts.I have no answers, but if the intuition that to praise music lovers is a sacred space and staff in the privacy of our iPods masturbation, although it is true that every time I turn off the world with a pair of headphones I can not help feeling that some of real world escapes me, that I miss almost irreversibly inward, making dull background noise of my time.
