@mahgister
I don't have time to read all the books you throw out. I'm writing and researching a novel. But inherent in what you say, it seems to me, that you believe that your experience of music is at a "higher" level than others.
"For sure we can as the ignorant crowd of consumers speak only about music "fun" visceral or not ...But i am not member of this crowd..."
As an American poet, I was taught to come down to earth in my language and sentiment. And perhaps this is why we enjoy different things in music. I believe the highest sentiment can be found in a stone.
As a boy in high school we had a small record store with two listening booths. I would sit alone listening to classical music while a bunch of kids would sit in the other booth listening to pop tunes. As you can see, I set myself apart as an "intellectual" at a young age.
When I arrived at college I met a very pretty girl who danced joyfully to the Beatles. I learned to like the Beatles and many other rock groups and began to eschew intellectualism. I still do, although I read books on archaeology and sociology and religion, always with a bit of skepticism.
This is to say, that I don't fear the thoughts of anyone. Einstein had to brew his tea and drink it himself. And I try to understand everyone. But no matter what logical distinctions I make, you always refer to your own taste as a "truth" of sorts. I want to embrace the taste of others. If I don't like what they suggest for me to listen to, then I won't. But I don't suggest that my understanding of music is superior to anyone else.
That being said, and I've probably pissed you off, in the latest Absolute Sound, there is a long writeup on Brazilian music and great recordings of Brazilian music. I know we share that love.
And here is my poem about a stone:
Composite Things
Suddenly you find yourself
for some unknown reason
staring at the ground
& there is only dirt.
You fall to your hands &
knees & start digging
fascinated by the bits of
rock & detritus
yesterday's litter
mixed with things from
the earliest beginnings.
Then you pick
up a rock to brush
it off, some common composite
thing, but the whirling
striations have caught your
eye so you fall into an
enchantment wondering how
all these bits of sparkle
swirling with white &
brown ever got
compressed into a package
so small
& how that has come into
your flesh-pink hand
at this very moment
with the sky just as it
is overhead, tilted
slightly away.
Everything freezes together
& stops for that moment,
the universe itself
a composite stone
& you sparkling
deep in its center.
