Freedom of the artist begins.
Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. The first independent artist of the time I have grown up in to truly be successful on a major level without any sort of label behind them. How inspiring is this for all of us?
I spent years on a label, then years fighting to get off, watching my friends fighting to get on one. It’s time we found a new merry-go-round to ride. Why can’t we be free? Music is no longer big business, it’s returning to the quality of art. So let’s put our art out to the people.
“Labels out here,
Now they can’t tell me nothing
We give it to the people,
Spread it across the country”
He is right. Let’s live. What labels are asking from us, its too much. So we will rebel, and we will succeed. And they will have to adapt to our needs, our wants. One by one, we will not need the big business, money minded labels anymore. All we’ll need is our fans, our people.
Let’s get honest.
In three days it will have been a year since my father died, and a year and a half since my mother died. I would say it’s gotten easier, but easier isn’t the right word. It’s changed shape, and become more bearable. Bearable is the right word.
I go back to my mother’s house every other month or so… It’s the house I grew up in, the house I owe my life to. It’s the house my mother built for me to heal, grow, hide, fly, live and contemplate in. I guess it’s my house now, but it will always be hers. Hers, that she made for us. I think it’s important to keep close to these roots. I may not have either my mother or father, but everything I remember, everything I will never forget, lives on in this house. I brought the most important of my father’s possessions from Colorado to this house too.
Time flys by so quickly now. I can’t believe it’s been a year since my father, a year and half since my mother. Sometimes I feel I am standing still in the middle of a kaleidoscope as some one twists it around me. I grab on to the bits and pieces of things that I can catch, and I hold tightly onto them like a mad scientist holds on to his theories, trying to control the outcome. I know in my heart, I cannot control anything, so I keep trying to let go of these things.
That’s why I come back to this house. To remind myself to breathe. I think I breathe, but I don’t really most of the time. I don’t know if it’s the smog of the Los Angeles air or me, but I can breathe in this house. The kaleidoscope slows down for a moment and I can see what I was desperately trying to grasp at, and understand. Suddenly it all becomes clear. No other place can do that for me. There truly is no place like home.
