Quotes About Music

BARON AND I went to the Cow Palace, south of San Francisco, to see the Who perform as part of a tour package. This one was headlined by the Association.

In Hartford, Connecticut, on the Working on a Dream tour, Max Weinberg's son was sitting in on drums. There's a lot of buzz about this, and Bruce thinks it would make a perfect Rolling Stone story, which it will. Clarence Clemons, Bruce's iconic sax player, is taken from his dressing room to the stage on a golf cart.

I BOUGHT A TICKET to see the Rolling Stones on December 4, 1965, at the 2,500-seat San Jose Civic Auditorium. It was the year of "Satisfaction.

John was putting out his first solo album, an extraordinary revelation about himself. No one at the time made an album that intimate.

Sixteen magazine, which sold hundreds of thousands of copies during the reigns of Herman's Hermits and the Monkees.

Rolling Stone was selling almost as many copies in London as in Los Angeles and had a big reputation.

Bruce Springsteen wrote, "Elvis was as big as the whole country itself, as big as the whole dream. He embodied the essence of it.

A masterbard's given duty was to ease the hearts of the bereaved.

What is called music today is all too often only a disguise for the monologue of power. However, and this is the supreme irony of it all, never before have musicians tried so hard to communicate with their audience, and never before has that communication been so deceiving. Music now seems hardly more than a somewhat clumsy excuse for the self-glorification of musicians and the growth of a new industrial sector.

When other entrepreneurs created jukeboxes by arranging for a phonograph to play popular music at the drop of a coin, Edison objected to this debasement, which apparently detracted from serious office use of his invention. Only after about 20 years did Edison reluctantly concede that the main use of his phonograph was to record and play music.

Only after about 20 years did Edison reluctantly concede that the main use of his phonograph was to record and play music.

I was in '78 recently, he announced. I brought you this. He handed me a single by the Beatles. I didn't recognize the title. Didn't they split in '70? Not always. How are things?

She used to only play Help Yourself, but now she only plays Delilah. Is that normal? It's not unusual.

If you drive at precisely twenty-nine miles per hour, the rumble strips play 'Jerusalem' on the car tires. Listen." Mary slowed to the correct speed and

Calming, soothing and almost without peer. The second, naturally, is a hot soaking bath. The third is Puccini. In the bath with a hot cup of tea and Puccini. Heaven.

Memories lurk like dustballs in the backs of drawers. The stereo is a special model that plays only music fraught with poignant associations.

The sound of the tumblers in the locks of your apartment door puts you in mind of dungeons. The place is haunted. Just this morning you found a makeup brush beside the toilet. Memories lurk like dustballs at the backs of drawers. The stereo is a special model that plays only music fraught with poignant associations.

Teksas tepelerinin ve New Mexsico s?radaÄŸlar?n?n uçsuz bucaks?z olmalar?ndan kaynaklanan özlem: otoyollarda kayar gibi gidiÅŸ, Chrysler marka araban?n radyoteybinde çal?nan süper "hit" parçalar ve s?cak dalgas?.

All good music resembles something. Good music stirs by its mysterious resemblance to the objects and feelings which motivated it.

I heard you humming." "Yes," he said. "I hum a great deal. Can you hum? Yes, I replied. I can hum. I hum a good deal, too, and even sing, especially when I get out of the spring in the morning. Then I really sing aloud. Let's hear you sing aloud. So I said, feeling very relaxed with the sun shining on my head, All right, I'll sing you my cold water song.

And I'll look back at him because I shan't be able to help it, remembering about being young, and about being made love to and making love, about pain and dancing and not being afraid of death, about all music I've ever loved, and every time I've been happy.

Music is, for me, like a beautiful mosaic which God has put together. He takes all the pieces in his hand, throws them into the world, and we have to recreate the picture from the pieces.

I went outside, tripping over slabs of sunshine the size of towns. The sun was like a crowd of people, it was a party, it was music. The sun was blaring through the walls of houses and beating down the steps. The sun was drumming time into the stone. The sun was rhythming the day.

The healing power of art is not a rhetorical fantasy. Fighting to keep language, language became my sanity and my strength. It still is, and I know of no pain that art cannot assuage. For some, music, for some, pictures, for me, primarily, poetry, whether found in poems or in prose, cuts through noise and hurt, opens the wound to clean it, and then gradually teaches it to heal itself. Wounds need to be taught to heal themselves.