There's nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
With human beings it could be argued that all music-making is, in essence, grounded in improvisation.
To write a book about improvisation is partly a contradiction in terms. Improvisation is spontaneous. It's in the moment.
People's association with improvisation means one person playing an endless stream of notes over something, and it doesn't have to be.
The thing about improvisation is that it's not about what you say. It's listening to what other people say. It's about what you hear.
As the writer, you're always a presence in the song. If you get close to what human beings are like, you're writing about common experience. We all do much the same things, so if you nail somebody, then you've also nailed yourself.
There's always some room for improvisation.
Every time you write a song, you're looking for some sort of perfection, and you never quite reach it. You're always looking for that extra missing piece.
I always had a knack for improvisation. I can write down the notes I play, but never really had a proper academic musical background. I suppose I'm blessed and cursed by the fact I have that freedom.
I'm very bad with improvisation. I hate it.
Existence is a series of footnotes to a vast, obscure, unfinished masterpiece.
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