My peak season for composition is the Autumn.  In those few enchanted months, I have systematically been able to harvest an abundant yield of the year’s ideas and emotions with ease, rendering as much material as I have time for.  The year leading up to this past writing-season held for me more learning-experience than any since my childhood.  Naturally, I manifested more music than ever before.  Yea, but this prolificacy is a double-edged sword!  Perhaps it is a relatively favorable conundrum, but I find it a daunting task to stand before a congregation of my brain-children and select those which are nearest and dearest to my heart, to be presented to the world as proper representatives of my Good purpose.  But, it must be done in order to compile a cohesive collection of material, each song effectively charged to conduct a steady creative stream of the highest potentiality.

My writing style ranges from the allegorical to the affirmative.  In either case however, the Law of Mind is at work.  When one comes to fully realize that his every thought and word is the benefactor of his experience, he becomes very decisive about his language.  Art is the effect, but it is also the cause!  The images that we labor over and give passion to (whether positive or negative) will eventually become woven into the tapestry of our daily experience.  Therefore, the question becomes – “which of these songs hold an intention that I would have echoed back to me”? 

I once heard a radio interview from around 1940 of Blues-legend Blind Willie McTell.  The interviewer condescendingly asked him “can you sing us a complainin’ song Willie?  You know, a blues song – a complainin’ song”!  Willie completely averted this allusion and insisted that he didn’t know any songs like that, but only ‘songs of salvation’.  I was thoroughly impressed by this clear distinction of intention!  Clearly, we can place Mr. McTell among those luminaries who have been privy to The Secret.

Scheduling conflicts have forced our recording dates into the first week of April, so there is exactly one month left for preparation.  As a result of the aformentioned analysis I will soon have a final list of songs which are to be included in those sanctified sessions, and I have all but settled on a title.  I leave you in heart-felt gratitude for your participation and support.  Just the fact that you would take the time to consistently read this journal has been the elemental fuel for my fire!

With the utmost sincerity,
Mister H.

[Saturday]

After several long months of meticulous calculation, rigorous experimentation, and implementation of the resulting scientific philosophies; I was able to uncover the quantum equivalent of the feeling of spring.  I placed this elusive feeling into an advanced particle accelerator (the human heart) and alas, spring is manifest!  Just as in my hypothesis – warmth, hope, and good cheer are ubiquitous and abound!  My colleagues are sure to be shocked and awed by this revolutionary feat of science, which should guarantee me a place among the luminaries!  Assuredly, my name shall be listed in scholastic texts and journals of metaphysics forevermore – as the ‘Benefactor of Spring’.

[Sunday]

As it turns out, my findings were inconclusive.  Upon boasting to my fellow scientists, each insisted that he himself was the Creator, and had likewise been applying his consciousness to the upheaval of the winter.  This is most troubling.  Can they not see that I am the One – have they no perspective?!  And as if it were not trifling enough, these men are so bold as to go about enjoying the fruits of my labors!  Yea, I have seen each of them taking long leisurely strolls out-of-doors, and musing on park-benches with a pretentious air of magnanimity.  It is much to my dismay that I myself cannot bask in this light of victory.  I must immure myself within the stone walls of my laboratory until such time as I can prove irrefutably that I have discovered the Key to the Seasons.  If my calculations are correct, I will have done so by the epoch of November. 

 Mr. J.S. Hazelwood

I must make a confession.  In my recent testimony of solitude, I did make some slight factual omissions for the purpose of literary aesthetic.  In truth, there was a hootenanny of sorts that took place within these walls only two nights ago.  Its participants were the members of the ensemble James Wallace and the Naked Light – a fine band of fellows with whom I have been contributing my skills as percussionist.  Mr. Wallace himself is someone I consider a kindred soul, possessing an uncommonly inventive mind and a singular capacity for weaving abstract concepts together with his quirky sense of humor.  I highly recommend splurging to acquire his debut album entitled I Smile All Day I Smile All Night.  Upon hearing it the first time, I could not help but remark that this is a delightfully odd fellow, with an unusually busy mind – not unlike myself.  One can almost hear the squeaking of a hamster-wheel in the quiet moments of his music – the sound of cerebral unrest, accompanied by heightened pulmonary rhythm.  Ergo, when Mr. W. invited me to lend my services as antiquarian percussionist, I was naturally as excited as a rabid fan being selected from the front row. 

For a number of years I have passively sought-out an appropriate situation for my percussive aesthetic.  To generalize my concept, it is to use various antique instruments in my collection as well as other time-worn objects not-intended for musical facility, to stir-up emotions which have lay dormant in the human heart for nigh a century.  I have long-hypothesized there are no ‘good’ sounds or ‘bad’ sounds, but only those which serve to conjure one’s intended emotion.  In Hamlet, Shakespeare wrote “There is nothing either good or bad – but thinking makes it so”.  Mainstream modern music seems to have agreed-upon a grossly-limited palate of generally accepted ‘good’ sounds.  i.e.  Red, Blue, Yellow, and Green – as in the most basic box of crayons.  But when some ‘visionary’ introduces an orange or a purple, it is avant-garde in comparison.  Hark!  What about the infinite shades of blue in the sky?  Yea, every blade of grass is in proud-display of its own unique hue of green!  I believe that the American Idolists would reduce us to a nation of apathetes, streamlining our emotions to be counted on the fingers of the bank-teller!  But alas, we are sentient beings, with emotional complexities far beyond the comprehension of the analyst.

In awareness that the continuance of this rant could serve no Good, I return to my originally-intended purpose of gratitude and respect-for the creative works of Mister James Wallace – who in following his vision (not necessarily in the spirit of contempt) is helping to stretch the limits of the status-quo.  There are plans currently underway for a split-bill to include J.W. and band (myself on percussion), Mr. H. (Mr.W on pump organ), and perhaps a mystery guest performer.  I will alert you of the details of this event as-soon-as they are known to me.

Between The Blue
and The Green,
There Lies the Good-
Mr. Hazelwood

It is another frost-bitten week here at the Hazelwood Estate.  A fresh coating of snow has fallen – covering any tracks which would-be evidence of persons traversing the span betwixt this magnificent old manse and its great iron gates. Concurrently, the comings-and-goings of travelers and other guests have long-subsided so that those occasions have been reduced to the status of dreams.  They occupy the same place in my mind with mid-night hauntings or slumbering delusions of such, whichever may be the case.  And still here I am, no-less a member of the human race and therefore connected to that which I cannot see.  Yet, it is this dichotomy of connectedness and autonomy which I must keep in balance so that I may continue to labor in faith that my highest purpose is being served.

It is my intention to emerge from this sustained period of isolation and introspection with a catalogue of music which has at long-last been pressed into product.  At length, this music has been closed-up in the heat of my head so that it is like a delicacy in danger of sitting in the oven too long.  In fact, I have been guilty of burning up my own sustenance on more occasions than I would like to admit.  These words and melodies are prone to run their course in my mind – tiring themselves out and taking an early-retirement.  But this has, on the up-side, contributed to my proliferation as a songwriter.  With the willingness to dispose of those creations which are no longer serving me, a vacuum is created into which something more useful might flow – greater works are rendered!  This has also been a fine test as to the timelessness of each song.  It has been nearly two years since I penned The Grey House, and having plunged into its depths – breaking it apart piece-by-piece, I still feel that I might never solve its riddle.  It fascinates me to-no-end. 

And so it is in blind faith that I occupy these corridors, performing songs into a recording mechanism, and seemingly to no-one.  Assuredly, the elusive entity of time has marked these days as Sanctified and the full magnitude of their splendor will be apparent long after they have drifted off into the ether – I having documented them in song.

Until our next encounter,
Mister Hazelwood

It had been two solid months since I had composed a note of music, that is, until I sat down this week to rehearse with my-self.  The moment I picked up my instrument, fresh substances began to pour out of it as if I had opened a release valve!  It was a complete surprise, as I had not even contemplated the creation of new material.  It is a most unusual process, this manifesting something from nothing!  In reverence for that Universal Mind of which I can only ever know my part, I surrendered to the process which has systematically rendered all of my best works.  This process is what many call ‘stream of consciousness’ wherein I abandon all rational thought, allowing subject-matter to rise up out of my sub-conscious.  It is often very revealing as to the thoughts and feelings which I have unknowingly suppressed.  In this particular writing session, I found my sub-mind insistent upon composing material of a geo-political nature. 

I am not a fan of the latest trend in political eye-wear called ‘Blinders’.  They have recently come into vogue with the promise of obstructing one’s view, to effectively block out any ‘bad’.  But what you are not informed-of in these crafty advertisements is that this hip new product concurrently blocks out the Good while dimming-down your perception of reality!  You might be walking around this very instant completely in the dark, with an illusion of safety as if you are crouched-down in a closet during a tornado, when you might in actuality be stepping out in front of a steam engine!  Alas, there is no tornado, but only the scientific prophecy of one greater than man has ever known, accompanied by sound means of prevention – ‘Climate Change’.

Before I continue, you must know that I have no political affiliation.  I have found that it is my role to always see humanity as a single unified body, the ‘Body of God’ if you will.  You can be certain that any political stance which I might take is the product of my own philosophies and ideals, as well as empirical understandings of certain irrefutable Universal Laws of Nature.  One of these Laws is that of Cause and Effect which could be stated as Newton’s Third Law: “To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”.  The Buddhists call it ‘Niyamas’: “Orange trees grow from orange seeds – apple trees from apple seeds.  Why do you think good will grow from evil seeds”?  It is absurd to pretend that nearly two-hundred years of pumping Carbon Dioxide into an atmosphere that does not naturally manage such high levels of the gas would not invoke some sort of adverse ‘change’!  Rationality aside, since the scientific evidence at this point is irrefutable that the Earth’s climate has warmed as a result of industrialism; one must bury his head completely in the sand to deny it.  But why would one do this?!  I believe it started as an innocent fear of change (knowing deep-down that change is inevitable) and an innocent fear of loss (protection of one’s interests); but it has now reached the point of paralyzed and polarized partisanship (clenching desperately to a boulder that is also falling off the cliff).  All people are inherently good!  I’ll go down to your Devil’s lair and shout it in his face!  We all do the best we can with the tools that are at our disposal.  None of you who are stumbling around with those silly-looking blinders on really want the destruction of the world, yet your actions are calling for it.  Yea, I say take them off!  See the Good!  Know that your thoughts and actions are creative!  Own this power and use it for Good!  Global responsibility and fiscal responsibility are spokes of the same wheel.  God is the center.

With Love,
Mr. J.S. Hazelwood

Since I was a child I’ve had an inescapable propensity to trace everything to its origin. Whether it was ideas, problems, words, or reality itself; I had a gnawing suspicion that nothing is about what it seems to be about, that there is an underlying cause to everything.  I absolutely cannot eat my break-fast without thinking of the farmer who gathered the eggs and the chicken who bore them, the delivery driver who carried them to market and the store clerk who stocked the shelves with them.  On a day when I am particularly busy-minded, I’ll be thinking about the egg itself and the miracle that it is.  Ah, the incredible edible egg…  I cannot write a word without attempting to deconstruct its meaning as I did earlier with the word ‘break-fast’.  Moreover, I cannot listen to any music without tracing it to the root from whence it was derived.

All modern music has roots which can be traced back to the early twentieth century.  This is because it was the epoch of audio recording technology.  Any music before that was passed along in live performance or written score.  When the record album was born, we were able to listen repeatedly to a selection and perhaps even play our instrument right along with it.  It is a strange phenomenon to hear the exact same performance more than once!  When we physically re-perform a song, it is apt to come off a little different each time.  Therefore, various subtle aspects of a performance, which were never intended to be highlighted, began to stand-out in repeated listening.  As time passed, the succeeding musicians had a tendency to exaggerate these nuances in attempt to repeat the effect of some ‘ideal performance’ that was impressed into their minds by hours and hours of repeated listening.  The next generation would then interpret what they were hearing out of context, having no knowledge of the intentions of the original artist.  I liken it to the process of recording music from one cassette tape to another.  Each time you copy the tape, its quality is degraded.  In repeating this transference, you will eventually be unable to discern what the songster was trying to convey.  Therefore, it is this thinker’s good opinion that since about the 1920’s the heart and soul has been linearly dubbed-out of modern music. 

But wait!  Please do not take me out of context.  I do not suggest that everyone should go around listening to The Mississippi Sheiks (although I cannot help but think everyone could benefit from it in some way).  But rather, I say make music that is not reactionary!  Let the vicissitudes of life flow through your heart and mind – filling up every chamber of your being and overflowing into your art!  This is what those original recording-artists were doing!!  And, there have in my opinion been a number of music artists in the past one-hundred years who have also done this; but they are relatively few.  Yet, this doesn’t mean that it is hard to do!  In fact it is an essential part of our very nature, which we often struggle in defiance of.  Neither do I believe this only applies to music.  Nay, it is applicable to every course in life!  There is a race-mind of thought that wants to homogenize every worthwhile pursuit.  But in truth, there are as many ways to do a thing as there are people to do it!  I say that when what you experience differs from what you have been told – trust the experience.  Go down deep within your-self and excavate the Truth which has been lingering there throughout the Millennia.  This is the only Truth which shall set you free.

Mister J.S. Hazelwood

Following a short luncheon with a colleague at a nearby eating-establishment, I returned to my abode where I would remain for the rest of the day and night.  The afternoon was devoured as I labored away at the chalk-board on a formula which has perpetually perplexed me.  As I simply cannot disregard a paradox, history will either prove me a genius or an inexorably obstinate ignoramus.  I scribbled and paced well into the evening only stopping when Ulysses was audacious enough to enter the room to alert me that it was time for my favourite television program The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

To answer your two questions: yes, I do have a television; and yes, I do watch it on rare occasion, but only those presentations which might expand my mind rather than to subdue it.  This program of which I speak is a beautifully-rendered production of Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories which have been airing every Saturday evening on public television.  The episodes were filmed between 1984 and 1994 and featured an actor named Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes.  In my estimation he was a brilliant artist.  I have read that he spent those years obsessing over the role, becoming Sherlock Holmes to such an extent that he carried the eccentricities and neuroses of his character into daily life, suffering from manic depression and dying of heart failure in 1985.  He is absolutely the star of the program, portraying Holmes’ erratic mannerisms and oratorical cunning with artistry.  As you surely know by now, I am enamored by the inventive use of language; but I am doubly impressed by those who exhibit a gift-for-gab.  Ergo, this program is something I am fervently drawn-to, and so I scarcely miss an episode. 

It has recently come to my attention that there is a new box-office film entitled Sherlock Holmes with Robert Downey Jr. portraying the good detective.  However, in viewing the trailer I was disenchanted to say the least!  It seems no more than another ‘cute’ Hollywood action/comedy, characters and plot being interchangeable with of Pirates of Caribbean.  We are not fools – give us substance!  Have you noticed that in this modern-era cartoons are written for adults and feature-films for children?  Just an observation..  That is all. 

Good day!
Mister Hazelwood

Halloo!

Welcome to another exciting rendition of miscellanies from the well-spring of my over-active grey-matter.  It is among my very reasons to wake in the morning that I should convene with you here to exchange esoteric balderdash in mirthful defiance of the English language.  I have also found it to be a healthy creative callisthenic to toil over a daily entry, attempting to render content which might be of interest to you, my loyal lover of all that is obscure and absurd.  For, even though my life is marked by vicissitudes of curiosity, I often find myself in want of worthwhile subject-matter.  Moreover, I am no perpetual motion machine – consistency never having been one of my virtues.  Although I strive to be as steady-flowing as a placid stream, my creative habits could better be represented by its termination, the sea whose currents appear erratic on the surface but are impelled by an underlying natural rhythm.

It is a noteworthy accomplishment that I have managed to maintain this periodical with such regularity in the past fortnight, in spite of my free-spirited inclinations.  Therefore it is with a certain amount of pride and humility that I come to you with a request.  Would you be so kind as to share your interest in this page with your fellow curious persons?  I have provided various means at the bottom of this page by which you may do this.  Although my number of subscribers has been steadily climbing, it would bring me insurmountable joy to know that my efforts are extending beyond my immediate circle of confidants!  Wholeheartedly, I thank you in advance for your role in the growth of this web-presence.  Your interest and participation continues to make this an exceedingly worthwhile creative pursuit!

Yours truly,
Mr. J. H.

This morning I faintly heard a rapping at my chamber door.  “That is very queer”, I mumbled under my breath, for I did not expect any visitor.  Candle in hand, I scurried down the great oaken staircase to investigate.  I hesitated to open the door, for if it were the paparazzi I would surely have to contend with a viral daguerreotype of me in my night-cap.  But another knock came – more urgent than the first – so I disengaged the lock and helped the great door open, as it creaked and moaned from this first bit of activity in ages.  Alas!  There stood my band.  In my musings I must have lost count of the days.  We were to rehearse this morning!  I showed them to the parlor and dashed off to compose myself. 

This rehearsal that I speak of is to prepare for to-night’s concert at The Family Wash.  We are scheduled to go on-stage at the strike of Eight-Thirty.  A rehearsal was imperative because The New Transcendentalists have never appeared on-stage before in this manifestation.  To-night, they will be comprised of Mr. Goforth, Mr. Norris, Mr. Perkinson, and Ms. Dickinson, two of which (N & P) I have never consorted with musically.  It has been the case, prior, that each of my concerts is marked by a unique supportive cast.  Methinks it keeps the music creative and in-the-moment.  There is no sleeping at the reins. There are those who would seek to control every aspect of a performance, but I am no musical autocrat.  I have found it most likely that a mature cast of players will create magic beyond my comprehension when left to their own devices.  We have convened this morning to establish a basic structure for the performance, but things could happen on-stage to-night which are beyond my wildest imagining.  It is my sincerest hope that you will choose to join us this special evening as we conjure rhythm and melodie.

With fervor!
Mr. J. Hazelwood

February 1

It is hard to believe that winter is taking its final turn.  I was so enkindled by the romance of those autumnal days and nights that I have spent much of this current season in an idyllic trance.  It would seem hasty to utter the word spring, as just beyond my window lay a picturesque winter scene.  Yet, the almanac does not mind to controvert this.  I am in eager anticipation of those first blooms of the Dogwood.  It is not because I have an aversion for winter.  In fact I get particular warmth from the chill.  But I must say I am ready to come alive again!  There is a part of me that wants to hibernate for these few frigid months.  My creative impulses are idle – hastened by the first frost just as the many blades of grass.  But come sun and rain; alongside the roses in my garden will grow my thoughts, wildly.   They are liken-to burst forth in a surge of creation, forcing me to manage them lest they choke out one-another!  I am ready for this busy work – to finally see what has been at long rest under the soil, and to cultivate it into existence.  But as for to-day, I return to introspection. 

Warmly,
Mister Hazelwood