(Where are you now?!) Role models vanish once you have relativized yourself and you see how small you actually are. „Always stick to the choreography, ballerina.“ Think Syd Barret after he went mad and left Pink Floyd. Cc is his worst enemy. When he was six years old he cut the sinews in his right hand – been battling himself ever since.
Not that he ever tried to become that genius guitarist everybody talks about- that was never interesting - much more important was the focus shift the accident brought about. When he records a song he often doesn't know which parts he will use of it, or what he will find through it. He surprised himself with associative chant, like toying with chance in abstract paintings. He despises molding sense into the „lyrics“ afterwards.
The audience is never the red rag, but he cannot expect that they are his friends, so he needs to stay true to himself in order not to abandon them – guess that's what „proper“ lyrics are for. Tries to combine noise with melodies and vocal collages. He sometimes needs to write the kitschiest songs to calm himself down. At least that's what he thinks himself.
In the end they always turn out to be less pop than he feared and he can eventually accept them with all his being, and subsequently things have come full circle. Being cardiochaos is the most immediate of forms to express himself. That, or striking an e-minor chord on a balcony while the wave of a just-exploded atom bomb is approaching to take him home. Read more on Last.fm.
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