Loud Noise from Album 2 by A Good Bridge

Within the gaping maw of the crowd
Swallowed by jazzcats and cuddling couples
Listening for deceptive cadence and any interesting chord voicing contained within the continuous and ceaseless storm of music
Throwing away the dull brain’s worrying and replacing it with the music
Allowing myself to be digested
I live in the stomach of the jazz club, the orchestra, and the jamming band’s improvisation on the stage of the bar
An X painted on the back my hand, which I’ll get tattooed one day
I am to stay in this digestive tract, clinging onto the walls of its intestines, hoping to be able to climb back up into the acid of dissonance and odd meter Time signature changes and sus chords, twenty-minute songs, and double albums, cranked preamps and good tunes
There is nothing in this world that is worth cherishing more than art
More than the loud noises that will one day cause me so much suffering
That will leave me repeating “what?” When told anything by anyone
It’s a good thing that in my old age I will surround myself with nothing but music For no one will be irritated by me then, no one will be able to sigh or stare or pout or anything, no matter what I do, no matter what I have, no one can feel my condescending nature, no one can feel an ego, no one can turn me away from my drum set and piano and guitars and bass guitars No one can stop me from barring chords and bending my fingers to make other types of chords, or tell me that my chord voicings are getting boring, to switch things up, to change myself, to hit harder or softer, to sustain my notes for longer, to do whatever it is they want me to do, that is why I sit in the corner of the club, and why I won’t get any closer to the middle, why I won’t do much of anything. In my final moments, when I hear my last sus chord or time signature change, When “Sleep” by Godspeed You! Black Emperor or “The Sound” By Swans or “Boxing Day” By Car Seat Headrest all last longer than what remains of my lifespan, I will thank my ancestors for their gift of music, and pass on with my ears perked up and mouth contorted into a smile, for I lived without doing much of anything

• Alternative
• alternative rock
• Valrico