Let us begin with an innocent tune half-heartedly listened to.
A mumbling mass of phrases muttered over and over in unison to the untimely beat. A forbidden tune crescendoing again and again omitting my existence in this world. A world in which, the dull thumping against my skull, of siblings wailing like the fabled banshee, competing with the ceaseless shrieks emitted by the television. The shrill repetitions of cries repeated again and again forming a nightmarish existence- however unlike a nightmare intolerable. Without the hope of rising from the gloom. Without the hope of waking eyes streaming in sheer awe of life.
Let us begin with a tune listened to a psychedelic array of notes colliding harmoniously, forming a tangible melody. Of words spoken on voyeurism on humanity on disease. This is the work of Paul Van Haver. Or perhaps 'Stromae', the name masking the sheer ingenuity he present time and time again. All amongst the untimely beats of a synthesiser, hummed infrequently, the listeners half- aware of the true meaning of a song.
Ancestral heritage reflected in the honeyed skin, cheekbones sculpted by the hands of a craftsman, the same who created his eyes, a swirling mass of verdant- within them perhaps ignorance, understanding, empathy, apathy.
Who can blame my admiration for Paul, who's creative genius has allowed him to become the Francophone star he is. Yet he remains humbled. He wishes not to be controlled by Stromae, a character he has created for himself. He wishes not to be intruded upon in a way like 'voyeurism'. He wishes to keep his private life- private, however never refuses the insistence for a photograph for an autograph. Soaring above the academia in the promotion of French amongst the non-francophones and francophones alike.
You do not need to understand a song to listen to it, to sway and dance to it. Music is a language. Perhaps the only language that cannot be translated. Yet is comprehensible, universal. That grabs at the emotions regardless of race, age and colour. I implore you to listen to Paul, to hate him or to love him, to like, or to despise him. Perhaps the further beauty of music lies within a choice.
I simply advice to abstain from hatred it is similar to voyeurism- it intrudes it is passionate and uncontrolled. It is impossible to abstain from, we are human are we not. Ridiculous advice, hatred and love are the byproduct of humanity. Do what you want and do what you will.
It is free will.
