There wasn’t a storm outside and it wasn’t all a dream. it didn’t happen once upon a time and I didn’t wake up from a troubled night only to find I’d become an insect, a robot, a superman.
Music grew into me like deeply rooted feelings do, slowly but surely: like the early pleasures of an addiction and with the determination of a lifelong habit, managing to find itself a nest somewhere inside my body and reproducing exponentially until it came to compete with water content in terms of percentage weight.
Meanwhile, hobbies came and hobbies went like a helium balloon in a preschool party or an 8th grade crush. Ideas settled and slipped in and out of that little black hole which came to become my system of values, and philosophies swung back and forth to become radial.
Music was in sync with this whirlwing of new mornings, and it combined with a fierce hunger to learn whatever seemed challenging and interesting, branching out into ‘n’ dimensions and coalescing with my every minute.
That unsteady, accelerating flow of beautiful inputs made music making an obvious step in the discovery, and ragged rumba chords and the shaky whistle which my growing voice was at the time were the first channel through which that rainbow of bits and pieces came to life. One music school and a year later I discovered the ever-versatile DAW, which supplied me with endless creativity and which became a key part of the gear then made up of my vintage pentatonic blues guitar scales, my I-would-love-to-but-I-am-not-Ray-Charles voice and my blessed TASCAM recorder.
Chemical and physical formulas and engineering discipline made a timid attempt at fighting for the main part of that now fully established musical intuition, but just as Ludacris would have done, music asked them to move out of the way.
Once those thousand and one music styles which had been fed into the engine combined and solidified into an adolescent musical voice, a volcano exploded at the main creation site, throwing songs and beats and lyrics and structures and tempos and progressions and late nights out into the world.
That musical voice came to be called Doolimay, and along with projects Lobó and The Bewitcher it is the only true way I have of expressing what really goes on inside my always confusing self. Doolimay is a musical quest.
Get involved and follow the journey. There is plenty of seats next to me and it is free of charge. There is no storm outside, but that doesn’t mean that one is not about to come.
