Guest Post: Brendan Dimitri
Guest Post: Brendan Dimitri // @bdim14
I respect anybody that says music changed their life. Whether it’s putting the volume on high for a drive home, or getting lost in your headphones on the subway, music acts as a sort of psychological release for those who had a day.
I’ve played guitar and saxophone for as long as I care to remember, and in my opinion, the maturation process for a musician isn’t being able to play all the chords, or flash out a solo in front of a crowd; it’s being able to distinguish the relationships between the endless amount of chord progressions and the
different moods they can portray.
A song is rarely planned; sometimes the lyrics come first, sometimes the chords come first, sometimes they come together as the process moves along.
The key of D minor, in my opinion, portrays this claim the best. The darkness and despair that lies in between the notes of D minor – and I should say, its partner in crime, the key of F -- is something that has developed my sense of music in a way the 10-year-old me would have never imagined.
Here’s a little poem/whatever-the-hell on how this specific key has influenced those who came before us. Can you spot any of the songs? Do you have a favorite song written in D minor? Leave a comment and let me know.
The key of D minor is an old man, a lot like you. It’s love lost, at such a cost; a coin that won’t get tossed.
It’s joo joo eyeballs; a joker, who just do what he please.
It’s the devil who went down to Georgia, looking for a soul to steal.
It’s a Requiem that interrupts your deepest thought.
It’s a shiver in the dark, when it’s raining in the park.
It’s another brick in the wall, an intangible barrier of good, bad.
It’s a tear; no, it’s that first thought of a tear.
It’s a lowercase letter, in the Sea of Capitals.
It’s an abandoned bridge, stuck in an eroding battle.
It’s a tree; broken, left to question the Gods.
Break or rebuild me.
It’s a saxophone on the sidewalk; a penny, heads down.
A harmonica echoing in an empty room.
It’s the key of F, only faintly different.
Fuck, fame, phony, pony, money, funny, dope, mop.
It could go on forever, but chooses not to.
For your sake.
It’s the temptation of insanity, the results of which known.
Vanity, parity, discontent.
It’s cheap mascara running down your face.
It’s the key of D minor; that first thought of a tear.