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.
Whether I am performing for an elite crowd or a crowd of 20,000 people - the moment someone asks for 'Agneepath,' and I respond 'Agneepath' chahiye?' the noise in the crowd, shows that this song has become huge.
I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. --From the poem "Mad Girl's Love Song
I've just built a studio in my mama's old bedroom, which I thought was fitting; she died last year. We've recorded nine songs recorded in there already; we're sort of just chipping away.
When I put out a record or single I don't allow myself to set up expectations like, 'This song must be a number one hit. Its got to sell X amount of records.'
