I don't make music for eyes. I make music for ears.
I don't even really like rap music.
There's not a lot of music videos that are totally, totally disturbing.
I don't listen to a ton of rock music.
Music moves my emotions because music loosens me up.
I think music should be scary. Music is an exorcism.
First of all I listen to music. I like music.
Gay nightclubs offer better dance music.
I listen to a lot of indie or rock music.
Music is music; you don't have to put a label on it.
'Livin' la Vida Loca' is not Latin music. It does not represent Latin music.
I've never turned my back on country music.
I'm pretty proud of my film music in general.
A music video is so different to doing a movie.
And then the lights went low, and our song began. The song I’d been working on since I’d arrived on the island. The one that morphed into something else entirely, something I never intended it to be. But music is like that. Much like life. It tel...
He put his hand on my waist, and my heart began to pound, a rougher rhythm than the music. I held my skirt. Our free hands met. His felt warm and comforting and unsettling and bewildering--all at once.
And I understood why he didn’t need friends or to be accepted at our shitty racist high school, because he had his music, and that was so much better than anything we had to offer.
People who know our music, they know who you are. They've been in the dark room, they know you better than your best friend, because you don't sing like that to your best friend, you don't sing in their ear.
Because it's so easy to medicate our need for self-worth by pandering to win followers, 'likes' and view counts, social media have become the metier of choice for many people who might otherwise channel that energy into books, music or art - or even ...
And who ever said the world was fair, little lady? Maybe death is fair, but certainly not life. We must accept the unfairness as proof of the sublime flux of existence, the capricious music of the universe- and go on about our tasks
Everyone lives in a proverbial music video for a few hours. Then they leave the blinged out universe of faux-independence and fleeting adulthood and return to their parents’ homes. Their parents’ homes replete with marble floors and gold chandeli...
