SOUNDS LIKE
A noise rushing to the head, an urgency that cannot be denied. The juxtaposition of sound. The juxtaposition of feeling. Feeling, colors, and poetry. Something very simple, yet awsome. Where words fail. Where words become hints at what is really felt.
The CREEM Archive presents the magazine as originally created. Digital text has been scanned from its original print format and may contain formatting quirks and inconsistencies.
SOUNDS LIKE
RICHARD WALLS
A noise rushing to the head, an urgency that cannot be denied. The juxtaposition of sound. The juxtaposition of feeling. Feeling, colors, and poetry. Something very simple, yet awsome. Where words fail. Where words become hints at what is really felt. Why I don’t like poetry. Why I am me and not someone else.
Chaos. No meaning, meaning much more meaning. Meaning filling the essence and never fitted into words. Like talking for hours about something out there-indescribable, unspeakable, incoherent, chaotic, meaningless-and failing to walk out the door to feel what it is. The chaos could be a simple feeling viewed from a distance.
Then one must go outsideinside or allow the noise to rush forward. There is no danger. No danger where I make the rules.
The noise which is music prys the feelings loose. But it is nothing definite. Often laughter.
The record that brings all this to mind is Sound by Roscoe Mitchell. Delmark Records (DL-408)
