I’m not a huge fan of rock music, but Charles Bradley’s cover of this Black Sabbath song is ill. This kind of music is therapy. Incidentally, I was reading Milan Kundera’s “Testaments Betrayed” while I was listening to this song and this passage perfectly came about:
The word “rock” is vague; therefore, I would rather describe the magic I mean: human voices prevail over instruments, high-pitched voices over low ones; there is no contrast to the dynamics, which keep to a perpetual fortissimo that turns the singing into howling; as in jazz, the rhythm accentuates the second beat of the measure, but in a more stereotyped and noisier manner; the harmony and the melody are simplistic and thus they bring out the tone color, the only inventive element of this music; while the popular songs of the first half of the century had melodies that made poor folk cry, this so-called rock music is exempt from the sin of sentimentality; it is not sentimental, it is ecstatic, it is the prolongation of a single moment of ecstasy; and since ecstasy is a moment wrenched out of time – a brief moment without memory, a moment surrounded by forgetting – this melodic motif has no room to develop, it only repeats, without evolving or concluding.
And oh, it’s finally September. In three days, I will turn 24. May life be good.