How to Listen to Manual
Dreary, damp morning. It’s actually a nice break from the bright skies of the past week. Leaves are gradually succumbing to the change. Some deep greens are turning paler, some darker. The inevitable foliage show is about to begin.
An old friend emailed me the other day and his note reminded me to listen to the perpetually sweet melodies of Manual, the moniker for Jonas Munk, an electronic artist from Denmark. Jonas is in his early twenties, but he is way beyond his years musically. His melodies are so rich and sophisticated, I’m in awe everytime I listen.
Spacey atmospheres accented by textured melodies which gently sweep you away. A broken beat here and there to root it all. It’s so easy to write to. It's my escape hatch. I fall in love all over again with every song. Images float in and out, my eyes becomes a camera to the soundtrack, feelings ebb and flow. Just beautiful.
That is, until Margie coughs up a lung in the train seat next to mine. You all right there, sister? Sounds like she has half a jar of Smucker’s stuck in there. Well that certainly snapped me right out of sweet reverie.
Anyway, if anybody wants a copy of his stuff, I will gladly send it to you. Just send me your address. The only thing is you can’t listen to his stuff while you’re doing something “productive.” You need a stillness around you to enjoy it. Train commutes are perfect. Road trips. Laying on the beach. Walking in a park, even jogging if that’s yer bag.
And don’t listen with the intention of listening, if you know what I mean. You need to let it seep in. Give into it. Let it happen to you.
Sit somewhere and just be. And maybe you'll see.
GM
An old friend emailed me the other day and his note reminded me to listen to the perpetually sweet melodies of Manual, the moniker for Jonas Munk, an electronic artist from Denmark. Jonas is in his early twenties, but he is way beyond his years musically. His melodies are so rich and sophisticated, I’m in awe everytime I listen.
Spacey atmospheres accented by textured melodies which gently sweep you away. A broken beat here and there to root it all. It’s so easy to write to. It's my escape hatch. I fall in love all over again with every song. Images float in and out, my eyes becomes a camera to the soundtrack, feelings ebb and flow. Just beautiful.
That is, until Margie coughs up a lung in the train seat next to mine. You all right there, sister? Sounds like she has half a jar of Smucker’s stuck in there. Well that certainly snapped me right out of sweet reverie.
Anyway, if anybody wants a copy of his stuff, I will gladly send it to you. Just send me your address. The only thing is you can’t listen to his stuff while you’re doing something “productive.” You need a stillness around you to enjoy it. Train commutes are perfect. Road trips. Laying on the beach. Walking in a park, even jogging if that’s yer bag.
And don’t listen with the intention of listening, if you know what I mean. You need to let it seep in. Give into it. Let it happen to you.
Sit somewhere and just be. And maybe you'll see.
GM
posted by Greg Monaco at 9:53 AM
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