Bell Levan

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“Wait. This might fit with something I’ve been working on,” he said. He put this lightning-fast guitar riff over my arpeggiated bass line, and we looked at each other like holy shit. It sounded imperfect but we were imperfect together. Separately our two different melodies sounded incomplete, but when they weaved in and out of one another, they created something real. Something cool. It felt intentional.
Fahrenheit-182: A Memoir
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