A huge departure from yesterday’s musical choice, but Cornelius is one of the best we’ve got. A couple friends and I drove to Detroit to enjoy Cornelius live for his POINT tour and it had us trembling at how life-altering that show was until my friend’s car broke down after the show and we found ourselves stranded outside of Detroit. We got a hotel room in Novi, which, years later, I would come to find out has a huge Japanese population. Maybe the universe was trying to show us something. The only thing we saw was a dingy hotel room and a parking lot. But friendship makes up for everything. I’m grateful for friendship.
Cornelius has perfected the art of beeps and blips, clips that snap and loops that thrill. He captures a tightness of sound. A following of note to note to note. A flowing of something that feels like it could just collapse at any moment, but never does. Instead, its music that builds and rivers with layers (horizontal and vertical). It drips, dear reader, a poppy drip drop of melody and mood.
I don’t know how consciously Cornelius’s work has eased its way into my writing, but I’m sure it has. How could it not? I was obsessed with his work for years. My only regret is that I didn’t get a chance to see him perform live in Japan. I only visited Nakameguro a few times. The idea of Cornelius wasn’t seeping through the area, so I kept walking. Nothing about the area stood out for me. I was younger then, though. Had other things on my mind is my only guess. I might have seen some cherry blossoms. I might have passed a Family Mart or a 711. Perhaps a train passed by.
A bird passed by.
There’s a bird passing by now in heady chirps. I’d like to bottle those chirps and turn them into drums. I wish these words were chirps that would turn into drums and drips.
But it’s never this way.