I don’t like it when people try to figure me out. I like it even less when they think they already have.
there’s a misguided belief that just because you’re a sad-looking punk who plays an acoustic guitar, it means you are sad or it makes you more honest than musicians who attempt to create an experience of truth in some other way. it just isn’t true.
some songs console you when you’re sad. some calm you down. some are meant to stir you up. some are transcendental and some are just really dumb.
the religious hymn, the novelty songs, or the ones filled with an inventory of lovers, they all have a place.
the dark, brave, thoughtful and serenely startling ones, tracks we dance to, anthems we revolt to, beats we bounce to and sounds people make love to, they all have a place.
we may crawl out of a song feeling more in love, or younger, or angrier, or wiser, clutching a secret message of small meaning, or nothing.
we might seem lost. we might seem happy. there are a hundred different states of human yearning, and people need to feel them all.
musically, I don’t really fit in anywhere (this much is true). but everyday people tell themselves a story about you. they have a set of expectations of what you will be like when you walk into a room, or on stage, or anyplace else.
what matters, I think, is that when someone with a pure heart has a story to tell, we listen.
cookie nieves 
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