"In the time of this winter the waiter had not much to say. He could hear the clock but he could not find his way. If I'm so far from your heart why do I feel it beat? And time won't wait for us."
It's five o'clock in the evening. You are at the top of a mountain - there is nobody around you. It is winter time and night kills the day. All you see is endless fields of snow going gray with the dawning day. Time to go home? Not yet... There is a long way back for you. Your final sigh on the hills helps you see your ultimate shelter. There is warm glowing light inside, and perhaps a cup of hot chocolate waiting for you.
So you crawl up to where the only possible road leads you, a path of hard snow, only few footsteps seen on your way. Reaching your shelter, a dog is lying in front of the door. The final dish that he had was a few bones with some ice sauce and grass garniture. You open the door, slowly, curious to see if anyone's inside. There is simply nothing, except for the dim light from the fire burnt by the few oil lamps. Rubbing your hands, you find your seat at the bar still looking around to see some excitement or movement other than the clock ticking. Nothing yet... All at once, the waiter comes in, he must have heard you. You realize, he is your waiter, but he is also your customer, you are the waiter himself and your song begins here.
The Black Heart Procession sings like the wind with a violin, for it is the wind that carries away what is spoken. The wind howls and takes away something you hold on to, and it carries all feelings away like a tiny feather, until one day when that feather goes around the world to finally fly and crawl on your back to rest on your shoulder. That feather turns into a leaden note which sings for a broken heart and a sour stomach. Remember, you are sitting at an abandoned bar. The doors are squeaking, the clocks are ticking, the waiter (it's you) is breathing, the piano is detuned... All along your stay, those leaden notes with you... This is how winds carry us between our days and nights, between our seasons and moods. The winds inspire us all and The Black Heart Procession's wind may come from down beneath the cave or far away from the other end of the bar through a slightly open window. And a reminder for all those who need a fresh breath, you need to embrace this cold breeze because if you can, a gentle warm breeze will follow.
For The Black Heart Procession, a song is like the wind, or a sail which the wind blows away. The ships move away laying all the gold to the deep sea. All you can do is wait until the ship returns, because the journey must be taken. The feather needs to take the ultimate fly. It might take months and even years to complete the journey back to you. You will know when the journey is complete though. You need to forget about the feather first - can you really forget? You will find out... But once you do, a song you remember from the deepest and most hollow curls of your consciousness will help you. As you listen to (or feel) this music you find yourself wondering what has been lost, you write your own requiem. A friendly caution here: When you write the songs like they do, use the popular 3/4 signature (and this signature is usually referred to as the bluest and/or romantic one), the dark tones of the piano, the squeaky and howling violin strings which gives you the atmosphere as if time is running out and you need to hurry and find that thing that you have lost. Or you could say, whatever you have lost, it is already too late and long gone - but hope never dies, spring always comes back. The bar will be full with friends soon. Parental guidance or a trusted company is recommended while you listen to your own song, you really look mad like that. Your song's composition and arrangement help an easy-listen experience, however the real challange is hidden inbetween words and colour of the tunes, which is usually black.
It's five o'clock in the evening. You are at the top of a mountain - there is nobody around you. It is summer time and day pushes the night. All you see is endless fields of wild grass and blossoming flowers. Time to go home? Not yet... There is a long night waiting for you. Your final sigh on the hills helps you see your ultimate shelter. There is warm glowing light inside, and perhaps a glass of beer waiting for you. You open the door, with beams of light rushing outside, you enter the crowd, nod everyone on the while, while you find your old companion on the corner. The piano plays bright and full of energy. This time a 4/4 signature...
