by Xavier Xisto
Music is dying. Slowly, but it is. I don’t want to be one of those close-minded people who lives in the glorious pinnacle of the past, but we can all agree that the quality of the music industry has declined intensely since the second half of the past century. Today’s standards of what is labeled as art are worrying. Why do we live in such an artistic wasteland, you might ask?
Listen to the album while reading the text.
People appreciate appearances over talent as well as easy, relatable and futile short-minded lyrics over the orgasmic wonders of actual reflective poetry that makes you stop and think as you listen to the songs.
Technology is also a problem. In theory, it’s an effective tool for making art. It expands the spectrum of auditory effects at the artist’s disposal and helps to perfect and solve acoustic problems, and that’s an advantage over traditional musicians. Although it sounds good for the future of music, what we get in the end is the standardized photocopied auto tune infested sequence of four chords that rots our radio stations labeled as “pop”, the music of the people.
But the real danger is not in the consumers of music: it’s in
Most studios aren’t interested in making music for the sake of art and culture; they do it for the sake of money. “It may be crap, but it sells!” mumbles every pop producer behind his desk made of green delicious cash.
It’s a sad reality because there are actually proud talented people who take pleasure in making their music, I would even say they need to make art in order to exorcise their demons. Artists who have real stories to tell, important messages for the world to hear but who get ignored by the music industry becaus the average westerner consumer would rather listen to some pimp talking about how much money he has instead of listening to the modern poetry that is rock music.
That’s where a friend of mine comes in. A guy who commits to his music as if the world would fall apart if the strings of the guitar are ute. He goes by
Don’t get mistaken by his name: The MIK‘s talent isn’t exclusive to the mic; he handles finely the guitar, the bass, the keys and the rums. He is a natural musician, not letting himself fall too much in theory but feeling each note as it should be felt.
Haunted by memories of complicated relationships, like a poet, he is able to turn sorrow and agony in melodic ecstasy. Where many young guitarists fail, The MIK is able not to fall in a predefined pattern, being able to create emotionally powerful song like Falling as well as more smooth trippy-ish musical masterpieces such as Supposedly In Love.
Even tough the delightful recorded versions make every neuron of your brain fire as if there was no tomorrow, you don’t really know The MIK’s music until you listen to him play live among friends on a night out in the streets of Downtown Lisbon.
With his intense entangling voice that will give you goose-bumps, he sings about his romantic memories, about past mistakes, about the naïve nescience of youth and he goes even further by crossing the border to satire and social criticism, commenting on the current identity (or lack of) crisis that has turned society in a homogenous blob it is instead of a colorful and divrse palette of
Charisma and Character.
Some of his most interesting works are Bem Melhor, Supposedly In Love and Falling.
Don’t take these names for granted, for soon you will be actually falling in love for his music, soaring in delightful melodies until you dive deep in pure rapture. For the future of music, art and culture, listen to his music. Artists like him deserve the chance to be heard.
For a better future!