Just Enough Soil for legs Axe for hands Flower for eyes Bird for ears Mushrooms for nose Smile for mouth Songs for lungs Sweat for skin Wind for mind
The songs I've written that are the strongest, I'm like: 'I don't know where that came from. It just kind of popped out.' You feel you can't take a whole lot of credit for it. I didn't purposefully will it into existence.
I give bird songs to those who dwell in cities and have never heard them, make rhythms for those who know only military marches or jazz, and paint colors for those who see none.
In order to make my solo shows as interesting as possible, I moved songs onto very different instruments so that I was moving instruments quite a lot during the set.
And that format was - we'd been using that format, I guess, since the late '70s, and it was starting to get very predictable. In other words, certain songs would surface in the same points in the set every so often; it was like rotation.
I don't believe in, and I am a devout non-believer, in playing new songs live if the subjected and pathetic crowd has not heard them before because I consider it like mass psychosis and genocidal.
I cannot learn creation from other people; I've got to do it myself. Now, honestly, I regret not studying - I don't know about harmonies, or anything, so if I'm composing a song, it's really hard.
By the end of it, you never know how it's going to turn out. Hopefully if I pick the right songs and put the right melodies on it and all the collaboration works out. it's a win-win situation.
When I lived in a little flat in Pimlico in 1981, I'd write in the hallway. As you walked in, there was a tiny little recess type thing, hardly a hallway, really, and I'd sit there writing songs with my guitar.
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!
The invention of Bob Dylan with his guitar belongs in its way to the same kind of tradition of something meant to be heard, as the songs of Homer.
We are all treading the vanishing road of a song in the air, the vanishing road of the spring flowers and the winter snows, the vanishing roads of the winds and the streams, the vanishing road of beloved faces.
The sweetest melody that plays On starry nights and wintry days, Most soothing to my listening ears And calming to beleaguering fears, I call a symphony on air― The song of sweet, still silence rare.
But I'm able to just keep going, and that's the challenge. It's the next song. And then just enjoying the shows and people who come out to the shows. It's pretty organic, really.
Writing in English was a major challenge. I didn't want other songwriters to write for me. I wanted to preserve the spirit of my songs in Spanish. I am the same Shakira in English as I am in Spanish.
A wind starts to blow, without feelings, A song falls in love, without singing, A life will begin in melodies of the strings, May you find all pleasure of the light, God bless, Warrior of Light!
Sometimes a song that didn't make one record will stay in my head for so long and just won't go away. I take that as a hint to keep 'em close and not forget about them.
The darker and the sadder the song, the happier it makes me feel. It's just this, ah. I'm in the moment. I'm part of this beautiful world, and it's fantastic, and I don't really know how else to describe it.
In my banjo show with the Steep Canyon Rangers, I do do comedy during that show. It'd be absurd just to stand there mute and play 25 banjo songs.
River Song: Right then. I have questions, but number one is this - what in the name of sanity have you got on your head? The Doctor: It's a fez. I wear a fez now. Fezzes are cool.
The Doctor: Dr. Song, you’ve got that face on again. River: What face? The Doctor: The ‘he’s hot when he’s clever’ face. River: This is my normal face. The Doctor: Yes, it is.
