My mother used to say that when I was 2 or 3 years old, I was a little pest, but when music was on the television, it was silent; it was peaceful at home. I was absorbed in what I was wanting to do forever. Music.
I started my sound adventure learning sounds; I created them around me with a k7s recorder. I walked around the house reporting where I went, something like: “And now this is the sound of water, and let’s all listen…” turned on the bathroom faucet “listen, it’s the water singing…”
What if you couldn’t love the difference in the world?
All the excitement of feeling love, fear, hope…
You would be someone else; but who?
We are nothing more than a bunch of insecurities and uncertainties!
We are always lost in a dark room; full with presumption and bad mood… But we just want to be happy!
It’s simpler than we think… Really! I’ll show it to you!
It’s lost and heavy-hearted that I decided to settle down on my own in south Portugal in November 2017. After three years of travels around the world and a summer back to my hometown realizing time was flying and driving my dreams away from me, it appeared to be the perfect deal for a start over – as the one place I would most likely call home.
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?