It's been one of those weekends where, on paper, was a complete waste. Did I tally my finances? Nope. Do the laundry? Nope. Do some drawing, get an oil change, do that freelance thing, backup my laptop? Nope, nope, nope.

But it was still a damn fine weekend, because I managed to stumble on a few different moments of peace.

After staying up until Very Late O'Clock on Friday night and sleeping in, I went out on Saturday, found a tree to sit under, and busted out my mandolin to play for an hour.

Then, after staying up until Way Past Very Late O'Clock that night, on Sunday I got up and went to go visit my go-to friend from school. We sat on his balcony and talked for a bit, and grabbed our instruments and headed out to a soccer field across the street and played for a while. We played until an hour had evaporated under the sun's glare, and then we played until another hour had fallen victim to that enticing mistress of rhythm and melody.



If you were a spectator to either of those incidents, you'd be amazed at how utterly terrible the music was. In fact, you might even be tempted to throw quotations around the word "music". But something like that, was I was playing and what he was playing and what we were playing, wasn't really meant for the outside world. For about 20 minutes, I sat there and played one chord, a single chord, what he improvised on top of it. And I was so completely content to sit there and endlessly pluck those strings. It wasn't about the technicalities or the skill, it was about the music. And sometimes the music just needs one, single chord over and over again.

And that's a great feeling. To be there, and to be engrossed in the music you're making. In all of its unimpressive, unfancy glory. It exists just for you. And to get to sit there and have another person be a part of that, totally immersed in and helping to create a tide of melody... That's an amazing experience. It's the kind of stuff that a good life is made of, methinks.
-Cril

Andrew Oldham Orchestra - The Last Time