Work Harder

Before the convenience of ipods and Mp3 players, musicians were forced to endure an extensive process of industrial filtration and shameless self-promotion. Typical freshman bands gigged night after night in back alley pool halls for little or no pay to audiences distracted by booze and a smoke filled atmosphere. Through all of the haze, the bands would truly connect with their fans. Not by mass friend requests via an Internet networking site, but by actual human communication and conversation concerning the underlying message of the songs being performed. These bands would then progress to the next level and permanently leave their creative mark on music by documenting the songs on tape. This would allow committed fans to own and become a part of a sound that had previously sparked their own creative spirit. Through word of mouth, endless touring, and album sales, bands would begin to gain popularity amongst credible sources within the music business. This humbling amount of limelight would soon grant these rookie bands the corporate sponsorship and funding necessary to reach greater audiences throughout the world.

This dream of “making it” has been rewritten and the concept of the “starving artist” is slowly beginning to fade as the generation of convenience has began to sacrifice quality for instant gratification. Without the filter of educated, credible, and veteran industry professionals in place, thoughtless and off-pitch vocals backed by distorted, unclear, and disheartening musicality now floods our youth’s dominant information source, the Internet. These networking sites allow anyone with a microphone and a computer to digitally expose their music to an unsuspecting audience of millions. The ease of songwriting mixed with mass exploitation is creating a daunting grey area between quality music produced by committed and inspiring artists and those who have no intentions of producing a product that gives back to the very institution it spawned from.

A Smoldering Fire

Do real artists ever find a tangible purpose in life? Or does constant, continuous abstract thinking melt the mind into a schizophrenic mush? I think the problem rests in the lacking counterbalance between critical thinking and over-analyzing. A free mind is surely one of beauty, but it seems as though our world needs its plumbers. One is forced to wonder what exists in each mind that is so incredibly different from the next? What elixir pours frantically between synapses? What blue print is unfolded only to be created by skilled hands?

A smoldering fire in the desert is one worth consoling. Aiding in its journey - only to be forgotten by those who've never known burning so brilliant. No stagnant replication or vile noise - just dignified and diligent. Starched to be starved and filter out with the rest. The true artist may find times of hunger in the present, but immortality was made for a mini series. An airbrush auction would make us all a little more gray, a little more mundane - but the inevitable has yet to exist. Maybe its time to pick up the blue print and start reading it again. There may have been a mistake.

Riotous Metropolis Overview

The back cover of the book reads:

The cover piece of the collection entitled Riotous Metropolis describes a specific scenario involving a wandering existence and it’s confronting reality. At first glance, it would appear that the short story transpires over the span of a few passing moments. As we strip back the bitter coating, we divulge the underlying components of the situation and their relevancy to a lifetime of hardship.

One man can only draw on that which he has experienced and cognitively obtained as his own. Had prior endeavors led the outsider with a weakened moral compass, he may have felt less inclined to act - but every inspiring interaction, every stimulating emotion, every disheartening memory, and every waking moment led him to his spot – to be confronted with his scenario – to be faced with his decision. By embracing the trembling spirit, he truly shows an appreciation for lesser hands dealt.

The ensuing chapters of Riotous Metropolis identify with the impacting factors of every interaction – our lives’ inevitable journeys, our own self-complexity, the structural constituents of our society, and the relationships that absorb the fist of each and every blunder. The poems and images are intended to depict those specific instances and provide insight as to why our hero was inevitably presented his plight.

P. Lewis Foster

For Pete's Sake

We cannot - we must not change what music once was. Profound and meticulous compositions should now only exist in the archives that contain them. We can only listen with eager ears; we can only interpret with open minds, but must let the resting rhythms exist only in our speakers and not in our workshops. It is our responsibility as musicians to allow all facets of past composition to influence us in the most experiential fashions. We are to absorb every pattern, identify every emotional variation, and allow a fusion of the lot to manifest within our very fingertips.

As the newly comprised energy spreads fluently throughout mind, body, and soul, we are enabled to speak with every individual voice. We speak from each mouth, but transmit only one message. The chaos forms a symphonic wave cast frantically to the masses, or to no one at all. To the barren cement lining every basement - speak the phrases made unattainable by way of radio or television. Scream the song unheard by millions. Every individual, regardless of social familiarity, is equipped with a unique skill set of impacting factors. It is the successful, the passionate, the genuine, the sincere, the committed - who can and will allow such a phenomena to occur internally. To hone, identify, and transmit the finished product is truly a unique and individualistic expression of artistry.

The potential to impact those who have yet to compose exists in the ears of those who chose to listen and in the mouths of those who choose to speak. I vow to those who have yet to pick up the pick - with every voice I will scream as loud as I can until the deafened ears and wandering minds break free of numbness and stagnancy. I will scream until my eyes brighten red with blood and my voice erodes to whispers. I will scream until every daunting gray area is colored. I will scream until the messages of millions of impostors are buried with no chance for escape. My voice, my velocity, my vision, is a gift to those who care to progress. My silence, my discourage, my fist - a separate composition - is given to those who chose to disgrace and defile this gift given so reverently.