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The first time, when you emerge from the womb, I am a brilliant color in the rainbow of human talents from which you choose. Later, when a special someone lifts the curtain, you feel that chosen talent stirring inside you, a bursting passion to sing, paint, dance, bang on drums. And you are never the same.
TALENT IS A PIECE OF GOD’S SHADOW. AND UNDER THAT SHADOW, HUMAN STORIES INTERSECT.
“You cannot play the guitar if your nails are not cut.” “All right, Maestro.” “Do you know why this is?” “No, Maestro.” “No, you do not. Most people think it is because the nails get in the way of pressing on the strings. But I say it is something more.” “What is it, Maestro?” “The nails protect the fingertips. The fingertips are sensitive. Only by cutting the nails back can you truly be in touch with the music.” “Yes, Maestro.” “Only then can you feel the pain of every note.” “Yes, Maestro.” “There is no protection.” “Yes, Maestro.” “Music hurts. Do you understand me, boy?”
“Do not cry over losing blood. Not for something you love.”
MONEY. A MYSTERY, I MUST ADMIT. While it clearly means a great deal to humans, it seems, to me, an enormous burden.
Truth is light. Lies are shadows. Music is both.
I saw something else. I saw a boy all but bending the strings in a girl’s direction. It was the first time Frankie Presto attempted to give his music to someone else. Which is how I knew he was in love.
There are moments on earth when the Lord smiles at the unexpected sweetness of His creation. This was one of those moments.
The song gave him comfort. That is often why you come to music, isn’t it? To feel that you are not alone?
“The secret is not to make your music louder, but to make the world quieter.”
Man searches for courage in drink, but it is not courage that he finds, it is fear that he loses. A drunken man may step off a cliff. That does not make him brave, just forgetful.
You don’t need much to remember someone, Francisco. Even one thing will do.”
I have said that music allows for quick creation. But it is nothing compared with what you humans can destroy in a single conversation.
All lonely roads lead back to music. I embrace you. I forgive you. I will never leave you. Can humans say the same?
He wondered why God was always mentioned in the most unusual moments of his life.
There are songs that you play that you have to restart, and songs that you play that you never get right. But when a song is complete, there is no more you can do.
Artists believe that art makes all behavior acceptable. I do not agree.
But all love stories are symphonies. And, like symphonies, they have four movements: • Allegro, a quick and spirited opening • Adagio, a slow turn • Minuet/Scherzo short steps in ¾ time • Rondo, a repeating theme, interrupted by various passages
Later, Frankie fell asleep with his nose in her blond hair and his arm around her waist. He had joined many bands. This one was his favorite.
How could a guitarist become a deity? they asked. But is it much different from fame today? Your world is full of artists turned to gods, their very presence inspiring screams of devotion.
But fame is addictive. And without the guiding forces of his life, without El Maestro, Baffa, Hampton, or Aurora York, Frankie was adrift.
And then I asked, “When was the last time you were home?” And he said, “I don’t really have one.” And I said, “Everyone has someplace they call home.” He held up his guitar. “All I ever had was this,” he said, “and her.”
you have to decide who you are playing for. I wanted him to think my playing was beautiful, so I stopped making noise and made music instead.”
What would you give to remember everything? I have this power. I absorb your memories; when you hear me, you relive them. A first dance. A wedding. The song that played when you got the big news. No other talent gives your life a soundtrack. I am Music. I mark time.
The engineer wrote on the side of the box “The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto” and put it on a shelf.
a fourth, unseen party, a heavily clothed figure, walking fifty feet behind them and watching everything.
Who is this cloaked guy?
At a certain point, your life is more about your legacy to your kids than anything else.
Rooms are rooms, after all, as a music staff is a music staff. How you fill them is what makes them your own.
“When will I be finished learning music, Maestro?” “Never.” “Never?” “You will never know all there is to know. You will learn until your final days. Then you will inspire someone else. This is what an artist does.” “What does inspire mean?” “It means you will make someone love music the way you love it.”
Josefa’s lips parted slightly. At that moment, she looked strangely like her father, the gypsy who had once given a gift of magic strings.
He looked down and saw a thin glowing line.
Those strings, he now understood, did indeed have lives inside them, but it was not his playing that turned them blue; it was his heart.
Frankie’s body never rose. That was his soul.
I am Music. And Music is in the connection of human souls, speaking a language that needs no words. Everyone joins a band in this life. And what you play always affects someone. Sometimes, it affects the world.
