Music Producer Inspirational Quotes

There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard. There are not more than five primary colours, yet in combination they produce more hues than can ever been seen. There are not more than five cardinal tastes, yet combinations of them yield more flavours than can ever be tasted.

The phono-lecturer began the description of the recently invented musicometer. “… By merely rotating this handle anyone is enabled to produce about three sonatas per hour. What difficulties our predecessors had in making music! They were able to compose only by bringing themselves to attacks of inspiration, an extinct form of epilepsy.

Gratitude without practicing maybe like practicing a faith without good work. A grateful heart is not enough without a grateful habit; because your joy is not produced by what you put in your heart but by habit you put in your life.

We have gone sick by following a path of untrammelled rationalism, male dominance, attention to the visible surface of things, practicality, bottom-line-ism. We have gone very, very sick. And the body politic, like any body, when it feels itself to be sick, it begins to produce antibodies, or strategies for overcoming the condition of dis-ease. And the 20th century is an enormous effort at self-healing. Phenomena as diverse as surrealism, body piercing, psychedelic drug use, sexual permissiveness, jazz, experimental dance, rave culture, tattooing, the list is endless. What do all these things have in common? They represent various styles of rejection of linear values. The society is trying to cure itself by an archaic revival, by a reversion to archaic values. So when I see people manifesting sexual ambiguity, or scarifying themselves, or showing a lot of flesh, or dancing to syncopated music, or getting loaded, or violating ordinary canons of sexual behaviour, I applaud all of this; because it's an impulse to return to what is felt by the body -- what is authentic, what is archaic -- and when you tease apart these archaic impulses, at the very centre of all these impulses is the desire to return to a world of magical empowerment of feeling. And at the centre of that impulse is the shaman: stoned, intoxicated on plants, speaking with the spirit helpers, dancing in the moonlight, and vivifying and invoking a world of conscious, living mystery. That's what the world is. The world is not an unsolved problem for scientists or sociologists. The world is a living mystery: our birth, our death, our being in the moment -- these are mysteries. They are doorways opening on to unimaginable vistas of self-exploration, empowerment and hope for the human enterprise. And our culture has killed that, taken it away from us, made us consumers of shoddy products and shoddier ideals. We have to get away from that; and the way to get away from it is by a return to the authentic experience of the body -- and that means sexually empowering ourselves, and it means getting loaded, exploring the mind as a tool for personal and social transformation. The hour is late; the clock is ticking; we will be judged very harshly if we fumble the ball. We are the inheritors of millions and millions of years of successfully lived lives and successful adaptations to changing conditions in the natural world. Now the challenge passes to us, the living, that the yet-to-be-born may have a place to put their feet and a sky to walk under; and that's what the psychedelic experience is about, is caring for, empowering, and building a future that honours the past, honours the planet and honours the power of the human imagination. There is nothing as powerful, as capable of transforming itself and the planet, as the human imagination. Let's not sell it straight. Let's not whore ourselves to nitwit ideologies. Let's not give our control over to the least among us. Rather, you know, claim your place in the sun and go forward into the light. The tools are there; the path is known; you simply have to turn your back on a culture that has gone sterile and dead, and get with the programme of a living world and a re-empowerment of the imagination. Thank you very, very much.

You will always end up in frustration whenever you try to produce outside your purpose.

I am looking at him, I am witnessing a unique physiological phenomenon: John Shade perceiving and transforming the world, taking it in and taking it apart, re-combining its elements in the very process of storing them up so as to produce at some unspecified date an organic miracle, a fusion of image and music, a line of verse.

I once was the guest of the week on a British radio show called Desert Island Discs. You have to choose the eight records you would take with you if marooned on a desert island. Among my choices was Mache dich mein Herze rein from Bach’s St Matthew Passion. The interviewer was unable to understand how I could choose religious music without being religious. You might as well say, how can you enjoy Wuthering Heights when you know perfectly well that Cathy and Heathcliff never really existed? But there is an additional point that I might have made, and which needs to be made whenever religion is given credit for, say, the Sistine Chapel or Raphael’s Annunciation. Even great artists have to earn a living, and they will take commissions where they are to be had. I have no reason to doubt that Raphael and Michelangelo were Christians—it was pretty much the only option in their time—but the fact is almost incidental. Its enormous wealth had made the Church the dominant patron of the arts. If history had worked out differently, and Michelangelo had been commissioned to paint a ceiling for a giant Museum of Science, mightn’t he have produced something at least as inspirational as the Sistine Chapel? How sad that we shall never hear Beethoven’s Mesozoic Symphony, or Mozart’s opera The Expanding Universe. And what a shame that we are deprived of Haydn’s Evolution Oratorio—but that does not stop us from enjoying his Creation.

The consumer is constantly screaming "Give me what I want!", while inside they are really thinking "Inspire me", even if they aren't consciously aware of it. To give the customer what they want is everything that is wrong with music today. Popular music just continues to get more and more dumbed down. The consumer doesn't know what they want, plain and simple, and if you ask them, they will likely regurgitate something that has already been recycled, filtered, over produced and watered down for the masses.

It is the simplest phrase you can imagine,” Favreau said, “three monosyllabic words that people say to each other every day.” But the speech etched itself in rhetorical lore. It inspired music videos and memes and the full range of reactions that any blockbuster receives online today, from praise to out-of-context humor to arch mockery. Obama’s “Yes, we can” refrain is an example of a rhetorical device known as epistrophe, or the repetition of words at the end of a sentence. It’s one of many famous rhetorical types, most with Greek names, based on some form of repetition. There is anaphora, which is repetition at the beginning of a sentence (Winston Churchill: “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields”). There is tricolon, which is repetition in short triplicate (Abraham Lincoln: “Government of the people, by the people, and for the people”). There is epizeuxis, which is the same word repeated over and over (Nancy Pelosi: “Just remember these four words for what this legislation means: jobs, jobs, jobs, and jobs”). There is diacope, which is the repetition of a word or phrase with a brief interruption (Franklin D. Roosevelt: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”) or, most simply, an A-B-A structure (Sarah Palin: “Drill baby drill!”). There is antithesis, which is repetition of clause structures to juxtapose contrasting ideas (Charles Dickens: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”). There is parallelism, which is repetition of sentence structure (the paragraph you just read). Finally, there is the king of all modern speech-making tricks, antimetabole, which is rhetorical inversion: “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight; it’s the size of the fight in the dog.” There are several reasons why antimetabole is so popular. First, it’s just complex enough to disguise the fact that it’s formulaic. Second, it’s useful for highlighting an argument by drawing a clear contrast. Third, it’s quite poppy, in the Swedish songwriting sense, building a hook around two elements—A and B—and inverting them to give listeners immediate gratification and meaning. The classic structure of antimetabole is AB;BA, which is easy to remember since it spells out the name of a certain Swedish band.18 Famous ABBA examples in politics include: “Man is not the creature of circumstances. Circumstances are the creatures of men.” —Benjamin Disraeli “East and West do not mistrust each other because we are armed; we are armed because we mistrust each other.” —Ronald Reagan “The world faces a very different Russia than it did in 1991. Like all countries, Russia also faces a very different world.” —Bill Clinton “Whether we bring our enemies to justice or bring justice to our enemies, justice will be done.” —George W. Bush “Human rights are women’s rights and women’s rights are human rights.” —Hillary Clinton In particular, President John F. Kennedy made ABBA famous (and ABBA made John F. Kennedy famous). “Mankind must put an end to war, or war will put an end to mankind,” he said, and “Each increase of tension has produced an increase of arms; each increase of arms has produced an increase of tension,” and most famously, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” Antimetabole is like the C–G–Am–F chord progression in Western pop music: When you learn it somewhere, you hear it everywhere.19 Difficult and even controversial ideas are transformed, through ABBA, into something like musical hooks.

Well, yes, and I suppose one could say that architecture has produced both museums and gas chambers, that classical music both stimulates economic activity and inspired the Nazis, and so on. But this strange equivocation between the utilitarian and the nefarious was not applied to other disciplines, and the statement gave no indication that we might have good reasons to prefer understanding and know-how to ignorance and superstition

This guy! I plead the fifth. This guy is nuts.” - Eminem “Dope questions, man. Very insightful, very thoughtful.” - Guru (Gang Starr) “You like a Psychiatrist or some shit? This shit is just coming out but go ahead.” - Mary J. Blige “Definitely a real interview! Digging deep up in there, man. Not afraid to ask questions!” - K-Ci Hailey (Jodeci) “The Wizard asked me for a copy of your magazine.” - Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo (Daft Punk) “You didn’t wear your glasses and you haven’t carried your hearing aid. What else is wrong with you?” - Bushwick Bill “Peace and blessing, Brother Harris. Thank you for inspiring my words. Keep ‘yo balance.” - Erykah Badu “Can I see that pen?” - Bobby Brown “What else do you want to know? Talk to me.” - Aaliyah

There is however, one reason why the arts so rarely accept a mission that IS within the power of the Church to alter. In the past, the densest or richest location of baptised art has been the Liturgy. The sacred use of the arts in the liturgical setting has provided inspiration for artists engaged in producing artworks for contexts outside the Liturgy, for consumption beyond the limits of the visible Church. In the modern West, the Muses have largely fled the liturgical amphitheatre, which instead is given over to banal language, poor quality popular music, and, in new and re-designed churches, a nugatory or sometimes totally absent visual art. This deprives the wider Christian mission of the arts of essential nourishment. Where would the poetry of Paul Claudel be without the Latin Liturgy? Or John Tavener's music without the Orthodox Liturgy? Where would be the entire tradition of representational art in the West without the liturgical art of which until the seventeenth century at least remained at its heart? We need today to summon back the Muses to the sacred foyer of the Church, to be at home again at that hearth.

The Bradford Exchange—a knockoff of [Joseph] Segel’s [Franklin Mint] business—created a murky secondary market for its collector plates, complete with advertisements featuring its “brokers” hovering over computers, tracking plate prices. To underscore the idea of these mass-produced tchotchkes as upmarket, sophisticated investments, the company deployed some of its most aggressive ads (which later led to lawsuits) in magazines like Kiplinger’s Personal Finance and Architectural Digest. A 1986 sales pitch offered “The Sound of Music,” the first plate in a new series from the Edwin M. Knowles China Company, at a price of $19.50. Yet the ad copy didn’t emphasize the plate itself. Rather, bold type introduced two so-called facts: “Fact: ‘Scarlett,’ the 1976 first issue in Edwin M. Knowles’ landmark series of collector’s plates inspired by the classic film Gone With the Wind, cost $21.60 when it was issued. It recently traded at $245.00—an increase of 1,040% in just seven years.” And “Fact: ‘The Sound of Music,’ the first issue in Knowles’ The Sound of Music series, inspired by the classic film of the same name, is now available for $19.50.” Later the ad advised that “it’s likely to increase in value.” Currently, those plates can be had on eBay for less than $5 each. In 1993 U.S. direct mail sales of collectibles totaled $1.7 billion

Everyday I became more convinced that good literature has little or nothing to do with trivial fancies such as “inspiration” or “having something to tell” and more with the engineering of language, with the architecture of narrative , with the painting of texture, with the timrbres and colors of the staging. With the cinematography of words, and the music that can be produced by an orchestra of ideas

God's word will produce with your level of understanding. The much you can understand it, the more wisdom you are privileged to have.

Being a musician. It is about trying something new always. Until that something sounds good and pleasing.

She I had always seen her with him, everywhere she went she went with him, And today she walked the streets alone, and appeared so lonely without him, She did not wish to smile without him, Because she felt disturbed by smiles without him, She often admired the starry nights with him, But now the sky, more than the dying stars, missed her, because she was lost somewhere in the act of missing him, She did not want to try living without him, Because when she was tired of trying she had finally tried, and loved him, She no longer waited for the summer as she used to when she was with him, Because when she had got bored of summer and it's every beautiful thing, she had loved him, She felt the summer rose was dull without him, Because it felt fresh and brilliant when he compared her to the rose, and she always kissed him, She did not want to kiss the rose without him, Because the rose and the summer, reminded her of him, She did not feel anything without him, Because her feelings failed to produce sensations without him, She was alive, but she was still searching a part of her own self that died in him, And now she feels it is a curse to live without him, She no longer sings songs that she used to sing with him, Because her heart no more creates musical beats that it created when she was with him, She still seeks him, nothing else, just him, wherever she might be, she seeks him, Because to her there appears to be nothing left to seek without him, Birds often sing at her window, but in them too she seeks him, And the poor birds who always seek her in her eyes, fly away in sadness, because in her eyes, they only see him, just him, She does not look at the sky anymore, because there too she wishes to see him, And the sky always reminds her of him, and the moments spent with him, He has died a long time ago, but she is still with him, still believing she was born for him, So she is living, hoping that someday death will disown him, She is hoping, but not the way she used to hope when she was with him, Because now she only hopes about one thing, because all her desires and wishes begin and end with him, She is there waiting in her chair, looking out of the window and waiting for him, Begging time to lead her to him, But the time does not wish to reveal him, For if it does, heaven shall miss him, And in this strife between the heaven that wants to keep him, and her heart that wants to reclaim him, Time is the only force that can interfere, and grant her the wish of being with him, Tonight when the moon rose in the sky, the stars shone too, she looked at the sky and thought of him, Time watched her from its kingdom called everywhere, and from the heaven it finally stole him, Now they live for each other, and she lives with him, Because finally heaven too believed it is better they be together, because she indeed was born for him, Moreover, time had started procrastinating the affairs of the universe that can neither stop for her nor for him, So the heaven let her have him, because immortality felt better, only when she thought of him and when she was with him!

Preamble The Klassik Era was a cultural and musical revolution that swept through Kenya and East Africa in the early 2010s. It was a time of bold experimentation, fearless expression, and unapologetic individuality that challenged the norms of mainstream music and culture. For the first time, young people from the ghettos and slums of Nairobi, Mombasa, and Kisumu could see themselves represented and celebrated in the music and arts scene, and their voices and stories were given a platform like never before. The Klassik Era was characterized by a fusion of different musical genres and styles, from hip-hop and reggae to dancehall and afro-pop, to create a sound that was uniquely Kenyan and African. It was a time when young artists and producers like Blame It On Don (DON SANTO), Kingpheezle, Jilly Beatz, Tonnie Tosh, Kenny Rush, and many others came together under Klassik Nation, a record label that would change the face of Kenyan music forever. The Klassik Era was also marked by a sense of community and camaraderie, with young people from all walks of life coming together to support each other's art and creativity. It was a time when collaborations and features were the norm, and when artists and producers worked together to create something new and exciting. But the Klassik Era was not without its challenges and controversies. It was a time when the Kenyan music industry was dominated by a few powerful players who controlled the airwaves and the mainstream narrative, and who were resistant to change and innovation. It was a time when artists and producers had to fight tooth and nail to get their music played on the radio and to gain recognition and respect from their peers. Despite these challenges, the Klassik Era left an indelible mark on the Kenyan music industry and on the cultural landscape of Africa. It was a time of creativity, passion, and rebellion that inspired a generation of young people to dream big and to believe that anything was possible. This book is a tribute to that era and to the artists and producers who made it all possible.

Think of yourself as being a car and passion is the fuel. The more you have the further you’ll go-and without it you go nowhere! The gas stations are books, workshops, seminars, influential people and anything else that can inspire you to take action. Keep filling yourself up and you will keep moving towards your goal. Now on the other hand the fuel drainers are things like: negative people, bad diets, unfulfilling working conditions, garbage movies/music and basically anything that doesn’t produce value for your life. You want to stay far away from these drainers especially if you are PurposeSearching.       Chapter

Just as the digital dominance of the recording studio seemed complete, analog had its revenge. Musicians, producers, and engineers searching for the sound of the music that inspired them—roots Americana, blues, and classic rock—began thinking about how the process of recording affected the sound. These artists, including White, Dave Grohl, and Gillian Welch, began experimenting with old tape machines and vintage studio equipment, returning to the analog methods they’d once used. Critics and fans noted that these albums sounded different—more heartfelt, raw, and organic—and the industry began to take notice.

Man's panic does not produce God's power.....sometimes you need to pray before you post on social media.

Five minutes after something happened might not be the best time for you to get into your Facebook and tell everybody. Men's panic does not produce God's power.

You are created to be a creator. God does not give anyone a finished product. God did not create the telephone, car, computers, Facebook, amazon, ebay, God did not make a chair, He created a tree for you to produce the chair. He gave you the raw materials to look at and ask yourself what can I do with this? Are you a producer or a consumer? .....ponder

I am so glad that God's disappointment in me is not greater than his love and I still have a Destiny. I am growing in grace and mercy because that is the only soil that can produce the kind of life that God desires.

I have my priorities and I know my purpose. I do not Praise God because of my pain but I praise Him because of what the pain is producing.

I've seen lot of people who gifted and talented ruined what they have and they end up becoming nothing and nobodies because of their attitude , character, emotions , greed and Influence from friends.

I had two great passions at the time: one magical and ethereal, which was reading, and the other mundane and predictable, which was pursuing silly love affairs. Concerning my literary ambitions, my successes went from slender to nonexistent. During those years I started a hundred woefully bad novels that died along the way, hundreds of short stories, plays, radio serials, and even poems that I wouldn't let anyone read, for their own good. I only needed to read them myself to see how much I still had to learn and what little progress I was making, despite the desire and enthusiasm I put into it. I was forever rereading Carax's novels and those of countless authors I borrowed from my parent's bookshop. I tried to pull them apart as if they were transistor radios, or the engine of a Rolls-Royce, hoping I would be able to figure out how they were built and how and why they worked. I'd read something in a newspaper about some Japanese engineers who practiced something called reverse engineering. Apparently these industrious gentlemen disassembled an engine to its last piece, analyzing the function of each bit, the dynamics of the whole, and the interior design of the device to work out the mathematics that supported its operation. My mother had a brother who worked as an engineer in Germany, so I told myself that there must be something in my genes that would allow me to do the same thing with a book or with a story. Every day I became more convinced that good literature has little or nothing to do with trivial fancies such as 'inspiration' or 'having something to tell' and more with the engineering of language, with the architecture of the narrative, with the painting of textures, with the timbres and colors of the staging, with the cinematography of words, and the music that can be produced by an orchestra of ideas. My second great occupation, or I should say my first, was far more suited to comedy, and at times touched on farce. There was a time in which I fell in love on a weekly basis, something that, in hindsight, I don't recommend. I fell in love with a look, a voice, and above all with what was tightly concealed under those fine-wool dresses worn by the young girls of my time. 'That isn't love, it's a fever,' Fermín would specify. 'At your age it is chemically impossible to tell the difference. Mother Nature brings on these tricks to repopulate the planet by injecting hormones and a raft of idiocies into young people's veins so there's enough cannon fodder available for them to reproduce like rabbits and at the same time sacrifice themselves in the name of whatever is parroted by bankers, clerics, and revolutionary visionaries in dire need of idealists, imbeciles, and other plagues that will prevent the world from evolving and make sure it always stays the same.

She I had always seen her with him, everywhere she went she went with him, And today she walked the streets alone, and so lonely without him, She did not smile any longer without him, Because she felt disturbed by smiles without him, She often admired the starry night with him, But now the sky, more than the dying stars, missed her, because she was lost somewhere in the act of missing him, She did not want to try living without him, Because when she was tired of trying she had finally tried and loved him, She longer waited for the summer as she used to with him, Because when she had got bored of summer and it's everything, she had loved him, She felt the summer rose was dull without him, Because it felt fresh and brilliant, when to the rose he compared her, and she always kissed him, She did not want to kiss the rose without him, Because the rose, the summer, reminded her of him, She did not feel anything without him, Because her feelings failed to produce sensations without him, She was alive but she was still searching a part of her own self that died in him, And she feels it is a curse to live without him, She no longer sings songs that she used to sing with him, Because her heart no more creates musical beats that it created when she was with him, She still seeks him, nothing else, just him, everywhere she is, she seeks him, Because to her there appears to be nothing left to seek without him, Birds often sing at her window but in them too she seeks him, And the poor birds who always seek her in her eyes, fly away in sadness, because in her eyes, they only see him, just him, She does not look at the sky anymore, because there too she wishes to see him, And the sky always reminds her of him, and the moments spent with him, He has died a long time ago, but she is still with him, still believing she was born for him, So she is living, hoping that someday death will disown him, She is hoping, but not the way she used to hope when she was with him, Because now she only hopes about one thing, because all her desires and wishes begin and end with him, She is there waiting in her chair, looking out of the window waiting for him, Begging time to lead her to him, But the time does not wish to reveal him, For if it does, heavens shall miss him, And in this strife between the heaven who wants to keep him and her heart that wants to reclaim him, Time is the only force that can interfere and the only virtue that for her can recreate him, Tonight when the moon rose in the sky, the stars shone too, she looked at the sky and thought of him, Time watched her from its kingdom called everywhere, and from the heavens it finally stole him, Now they live for each other, and she lives with him, Because finally heaven too believed it is better they be together, because she indeed was born for him, Moreover, time had started procrastinating the affairs of the universe that can neither stop for her nor for him, So they let her have him because immortality felt better, only when she thought of him and when she was with him!

I focused on staying positive every day, despite the money issues, health challenges, and constant reminders of the fire. It took every bit of focus I possessed. Six months after the fire, in the middle of the financial crisis, after one morning’s meditation, I wrote these words in my journal: I woke up this morning feeling like I’m being cradled in the arms of God. The energy of Spirit fills every part of me with blessing. The universe radiates perfection all around me. I am cradled in this field of blessing. It holds us always in love and joy. It nudges us daily to experience the light and beauty at the core of our being. I realize that I’m 100% spiritually successful. I enjoy a life of attunement to the universe. Daily, I celebrate oneness between my human consciousness and the greater consciousness of which I am a part. That’s the ultimate goal of every life, and I’ve lived it from the beginning. I choose to remind myself of this when I’m mesmerized by the things that haven’t materialized in my material world after so many years of visioning and hard work. As I tune in to the universe’s energy, I feel mine change in response. My thoughts become ordered and inspired. I start the day feeling optimistic, positive, enthusiastic, and creative. I embody prosperity. I attune daily to the energy of prosperity, as I have been doing for so many years. I know that material reality arranges itself around the signal that my consciousness produces. The truth is that I am abundant in every possible way, including money. I choose to maintain the joy of that vibration. I celebrate every manifestation of success in my world, no matter how small. I am grateful for my life just the way it is. I remain positive no matter what. I have the most important thing attainable in any life: Oneness with the universe! I attune to its music every morning in meditation. My mind, cells, and energy field come into resonance with its song. I then move into my day inspired and aligned. What a wonderful life. After writing those words, I decided to bask in the experience. I lay down in bed and visualized the experience turning from a delicious but intangible feeling into a hardwired neural fact in my body.

The matter might be summed up as follows: creativity calls for a disorderly and passionate element that is capable of breathing life into the imaginative process, yet it also demands a measure of discipline, for without discipline the disorderly and passionate element—however powerfully enlivening it might be—might not amount to anything concrete. Nietzsche in fact maintains that what we ordinarily conceive of as creative “freedom” is always in the final analysis a function of “unfreedom,” for it is only when the artist subjects herself to a strict regimen of rules and regulations that inspiration in any tangible form can take place. From such restraint, Nietzsche proposes, “there always emerges and has always emerged in the long run something for the sake of which it is worthwhile to live on earth, for example virtue, art, music, dance, reason, spirituality—something transfiguring, refined, mad and divine.” According to this account, it is the artist’s self-discipline that establishes the confines within which the asocial and disordered elements of the creative process can be transformed into something spectacularly appealing. At the same time, too ruthless a repression of these elements would result in insipid and purely derivative art. This is to contend that discipline alone is not enough to engender sublime art, for even though it often manages to give rise to highly cultured and graceful forms of beauty, it lacks the raw energy and vitality to generate something truly inspired. Likewise, the asocial aspects of our subjectivity alone are not enough to produce transcendent art, for though they possess raw energy and vitality, they lack the element of restraint that is indispensable to transform this energy and vitality into a stirring work of art. In this sense, it is the delicate balance between the tamed and the untamed aspects of existence that ignites the embers of awe-inducing creativity. Art that does not welcome the asocial, like rationality that does not contain a dose of irrationality, will shrivel up and die of its own indolence.

My mission with Rave Scout is to promote cultural inclusiveness and increase the visibility of marginalized talent and diversify the underground scene through and by producing digital immersive experiences. The ultimate aim is to motivate the community and the scene to experience and learn how to feel and passively accept their vulnerabilities and one another.

What would you say to people who think you wouldn’t be where you are now if it wasn’t for Rhyson Gray?” Luke clears his throat and begins to speak before I can. “I think Kai—” “It’s okay, Luke,” I hold up a hand, eyes never leaving Randy’s. “I’d love to answer this question.” I lick my suddenly dry lips before going in. “I would tell them that no one finds success without the help of others along the way.” I look down at the hands in my lap for a second before looking back up. “I wouldn’t be here without my mother, who sacrificed all my life to make sure I had dancing and singing lessons. I wouldn’t be here without my best friend, Santos, who dragged me out to LA to pursue my dreams. I wouldn’t be here without my vocal coach, Grady, who took me under his wing in a strange new city.” I pause, swallowing back unexpected emotion I hope I’m hiding well. “And, yes, I wouldn’t be here without Rhyson, whose music and work ethic inspired me years before I even met him when I was just a fan. So in that sense, they’re right.” I lean forward, elbows propped on the table, lips pressed close to the mic like the producer told me to. “But I would also invite those people out to see me on the road because, though so many have helped me, I’m the one who has to perform night in, night out, and no one does that for me. I’d offer them a ticket, but my shows are all sold out.” Randy’s mouth hangs open a little.

But with their backs against the wall, the Beatles produced an album far ahead of anything they’d done before. Since these guys were riding new levels of musical fluidity and inspiration, firing on so many more cylinders than anybody else had, they stumbled onto discoveries that changed the way music has been made ever since. It was an accidental masterpiece—but one that stunned them into realizing how far they could go. After that, they went full-time into the masterpiece-making business. Yet unlike some of their later artistic statements, this one was fun to make, and it shows. It’s where the Beatles became the Beatles. For artists like Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye, it was a model of artistic independence. Brian Wilson was still writing surf hits until he heard this record. The morning after his first listen, he sat at the piano and wrote “God Only Knows.” As he said, “We prayed for an album that would be a rival to Rubber Soul.

So we turn to the history of that chapter in the chronicles of war that was quintessentially the age of battles: romantic, even glorious in their spectacles of brightly colored uniforms, glittering sabers and bayonets, blaring musical battle-calls, charging men and horses; inspiring in their instances of courage and devotion to duty; horrible beyond imagination in the wreckage of crushed and mutilated bodies they left behind; futile in their habitual failure to achieve that complete destruction of the enemy army through which they might have justified themselves by bringing quick decisiveness to war. The swift decisions almost never came. if war's one virtue was its capacity to produce decisions at a tolerable cost, it had lost its virtue before the age of battles commenced.

Dance, music, love...these things take energy to produce, yet in doing so you're fulfilled with even more.

There are some things which sap our energy, and others which grow it. You cannot observe this in the Great Space. Only in the physical world can emotions and art seemingly bend the laws of physics. Dance, music, love . . . these things take energy to produce, yet in doing so you’re fulfilled with even more.

In The Music Man, swindling salesman Harold Hill tells stiff librarian Marian Paroo, “If you pile up enough tomorrows, you’ll find you’ve collected nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays.” I don’t want empty yesterdays. I want moments when I’ve been vulnerable or stupid or strong. I want to have tried that dish on the menu that walked a fine line between interesting and disgusting. I want to have seen that community production of a play clearly produced because the rights were dirt cheap. I want to have some daring adventures. I also remain a hopeless romantic. My dashing prince hasn’t arrived on my doorstep either in a white horsedrawn carriage or Volvo, but I have never once shelved a dream or experience while waiting for him to arrive.

Sami Abouzid Singer | Songwriter | Music Producer | Author | Publisher Profile: A versatile and accomplished artist with over two decades of experience in the music industry. Sami Abouzid is a singer, songwriter, music producer, and music arranger who has established himself as a creative force in both the music and literary worlds. Renowned for his original compositions and innovative soundscapes, Sami is also a published author with a passion for storytelling. Professional Experience: Founder & CEO White Horse Records (2003–Present) • Established an independent record label to promote original music and artistic innovation. • Managed all aspects of production, marketing, and distribution for multiple projects. Band Leader Romantic Star (2003–Present) • Formed and led the band, releasing music that resonated with audiences worldwide. • Released debut album Romantic Dreams, featuring the hit song “Vanessa,” which gained airplay on multiple U.S. radio stations. Soundtrack Composer (2013–Present) • Transitioned into the world of soundtracks, starting with Isabella in 2013. • Composed, arranged, and produced 657 original soundtracks, known for their emotional depth and cinematic quality. Music Artist (2001–Present) • Released 54 albums and 50 singles available in stores worldwide. • Composed, arranged, mixed, mastered, performed, and produced all his music independently. Books Authored: • Love, Life, and Music – A reflection on creativity and personal experiences. • Scarlett Johansson Forever – A tribute to art, passion, and inspiration. • Arabic Poetry – A collection of poetic works exploring love and emotion. Skills & Expertise: • Music Composition, Arrangement, Mixing, and Mastering • Songwriting and Lyric Creation • Soundtrack Development for Film and Media • Publishing and Record Label Management • Literary Writing and Poetry Notable Achievements: • Pioneered a new era of music with over 700 compositions, soundtracks, albums, and singles. • Gained international recognition with music featured on major radio stations in the U.S. • Successfully bridged the gap between music and literature, creating a lasting artistic legacy.