A full day or work on The Dusty Mirror sheet music today, with 'Warm Comfy Sofa', 'Norman Bates', 'Two Parents of a Child', 'The Arm' and 'Moments of Terror When Falling Asleep' complete. How good some of the songs are and how badly sung or played! At least now I know how much better I can do, or think I can. Again though, probably everyone thinks this. I have no doubt that Freddie Mercury would have cringed at hearing his early performances - yet, on the plus side, listening to my early songs, from the Harlequin Kings album (a mere blink of time ago) did make me think that those weren't that bad.
Well, that's all that's done today. My night was an awful one of violent abdominal twitches, burning inflammation and about one hour of semi-sleep. When I imagine Beethoven dying (the anniversary was in March) I picture a room like mine; a bed in the same place by the same wall and window, a desk in the same place, though the room is more wooden and Georgian. At least I have abdominal pain and anguish in common with the master.
We never know what is valuable, or what will be valued in future. Countless art was considered valueless once, and proven to be priceless later. For an artist, the important thing is to keep doing, keep making, keep recording and preserving, and to keep improving. Lax is not good enough. If I'm not good enough, I must get better. If I'm not memorable enough, I must become more memorable. Every day must be and should be a struggle. Rest is for the weak and feeble.
The jazzy pianos (organs, in the actual song) in Moments sound great. I'd have little hope of playing them from sight reading, yet, but I'd bet Ludwig could.
Onwards we smash though time, our fists of destiny to combat the forces of indifference.
