Living with William J Cedzich, my father, was like living in a house with a human bulldozer, whose fingers could play those moving minor key Slavic dirges on a Steinway grand piano that could make you weep.
Someone reading this (how can that be?) mentioned that I left out the "WHEN" in my "Who What When, How, Where, part. Sorry about this. I'm new to this blog thing.
Evangelists hail from the order of the Tongue,.they have trained their Tongue's to do amazing feats from getting you to believe you're a terribly wrong sick individual as they reach into your pockets and abscond with your coinage..
As songwriters, it's the inside of the song we are to get to,..the core of the song is what when planted, reproduces itself in the spirit of the listener.
The narrow rocky path has always been the path of the artist..
To throw oneself blindly into the streaming rugged winds of the muse is beyond stupidity or courageousness,. It is a choice-less vendetta against those pilgrims tempted by the flame of Art,.
You know the special one you picture in your mind who you know so well, so intimately on so many levels, that when they do something or say something so provocatively innocent your immediately drenched in rivers of tenderness flooding through and over you wave after wave?
Land in a place where your celebrated, not tolerated.
A caustic deprecating word can tip a young writer off their axis of enthusiasm,..Positive advice is a God send..
If I'm "thinking" about writing a song it will never get written, or if it does, it will be a piece of crap, thought up, paltry and disingenuous even on the most sub-lower level boogie level.
Something happened last night that happens a ton now and I have been meaning to say something about it. It’s gonna seem like a rant(which it sort of is) but it is more a stern reminder to all you writers and artists that are trying to understand all this.
