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Letters to the Aether...
Jun. 2nd, 2011 10:53 amDearest Freddie,
I just got done watching this documentary. I'm sure I've written letters to you like this before, but I felt compelled to do so again, as I've grown and changed and life has dealt me some challenging blows.
I wish I could tell you what you mean to me. Not just as a performer, but as a human being. The gusto and energy you put into your performances, and the elegant, measured, flamboyant, perfect execution of wooing those incredibly huge audiences has inspired me and impressed me my whole life. But you weren't just a showman, you were an artist. An artist unequalled. Your music was intricate and varied, and your singing was brilliant and yet instantly accessable to anybody that listened to it. I don't think most people realise the incredible mastery involved in your music. I don't think people today understand that when you recorded these things, there was no pitch correction, no computers to smooth everything out. That flawless, united, huge sound was you guys, working your arses off, making it right, layering over and over and over again your incredible sound. When I listen to your music I get chill after chill. When I listen to you sing, I feel like you're singing just to me. That - that's an incredible thing to be able to pull off, especially in a rock band. That intimacy. That emotion. As a singer, I strive for that power and gentleness.
My whole life I have wished I could rock and be cocky and arrogant and macho on stage, just like you. But I'm a woman, aren't I? The world won't accept that from me. But then, you were a gay man. I'm fairly sure the world wasn't too approving of that either, but you did it anyway.
And now I'm sick. I had to drop out of music school due to the agony I lived in, day after day. But you were sick too - much sicker than I ever was. And you still wrote beautiful music. And you know what? In the days when I was in the studio at music school, recording my vocals for "Egyptian Nights", feeling like my legs were about to fall out from underneath me, I thought of you, singing till your very last days, and it made me keep singing. And even though I know, logically, I'll never tour, I'll never have a working band like most people do, I know that I have the tools to make good music. And I'll do it because I want to make that music, the music is in me and I want to share it.
And when things are hard, and I don't think I can do it, I'll know that you managed it too, through much worse conditions than I ever would know, and that if you can do it, I can do it. I'm not a musician of your calibre, but I am a musician with great love of what I do. So even if it's not very good (what I end up recording), I know I gave it a shot.
Freddie, you were a wonderful man. A beautiful, wonderful, clever, funny, unforgettable person. I won't ever forget you. I won't ever stop playing your music and enjoying your performances. What you created was absorbed as I was growing up, and has become a part of my sound as a musician. I could name countless musicians off the top of my head that this applies to. Your legacy has roots and has grown, indellible, unshakeable, eternal. It's a beautiful thing to see. I hope that, wherever you are, it brings you peace and satisfaction.
All my love. All my affection. All my sincerest thanks.
<3,
NL
I just got done watching this documentary. I'm sure I've written letters to you like this before, but I felt compelled to do so again, as I've grown and changed and life has dealt me some challenging blows.
I wish I could tell you what you mean to me. Not just as a performer, but as a human being. The gusto and energy you put into your performances, and the elegant, measured, flamboyant, perfect execution of wooing those incredibly huge audiences has inspired me and impressed me my whole life. But you weren't just a showman, you were an artist. An artist unequalled. Your music was intricate and varied, and your singing was brilliant and yet instantly accessable to anybody that listened to it. I don't think most people realise the incredible mastery involved in your music. I don't think people today understand that when you recorded these things, there was no pitch correction, no computers to smooth everything out. That flawless, united, huge sound was you guys, working your arses off, making it right, layering over and over and over again your incredible sound. When I listen to your music I get chill after chill. When I listen to you sing, I feel like you're singing just to me. That - that's an incredible thing to be able to pull off, especially in a rock band. That intimacy. That emotion. As a singer, I strive for that power and gentleness.
My whole life I have wished I could rock and be cocky and arrogant and macho on stage, just like you. But I'm a woman, aren't I? The world won't accept that from me. But then, you were a gay man. I'm fairly sure the world wasn't too approving of that either, but you did it anyway.
And now I'm sick. I had to drop out of music school due to the agony I lived in, day after day. But you were sick too - much sicker than I ever was. And you still wrote beautiful music. And you know what? In the days when I was in the studio at music school, recording my vocals for "Egyptian Nights", feeling like my legs were about to fall out from underneath me, I thought of you, singing till your very last days, and it made me keep singing. And even though I know, logically, I'll never tour, I'll never have a working band like most people do, I know that I have the tools to make good music. And I'll do it because I want to make that music, the music is in me and I want to share it.
And when things are hard, and I don't think I can do it, I'll know that you managed it too, through much worse conditions than I ever would know, and that if you can do it, I can do it. I'm not a musician of your calibre, but I am a musician with great love of what I do. So even if it's not very good (what I end up recording), I know I gave it a shot.
Freddie, you were a wonderful man. A beautiful, wonderful, clever, funny, unforgettable person. I won't ever forget you. I won't ever stop playing your music and enjoying your performances. What you created was absorbed as I was growing up, and has become a part of my sound as a musician. I could name countless musicians off the top of my head that this applies to. Your legacy has roots and has grown, indellible, unshakeable, eternal. It's a beautiful thing to see. I hope that, wherever you are, it brings you peace and satisfaction.
All my love. All my affection. All my sincerest thanks.
<3,
NL
