Gary Husband clicks a cassette into his car stereo. “This is a demo of some material I’ve been writing,” he explains. We hear two acoustic guitars playing some gentle, lyrical, melodic music. “Yes, that is me playing,” says Gary. “This was just done on a four-track machine, but I hope to be able to do an album of it. The material is basically for guitar, but I would like to put some piano on as well, in places. Also, some of the numbers are songs, so I’ll be getting someone to do some vocals.”
It’s difficult to equate the guitarist/composer on the tape with the free-ranging, hard-playing drummer from Allan Holdsworth’s I. O. U. It’s also difficult to equate the I. O. U. drummer with the big band swinger in the Glenn Miller-inspired Sid Lawrence Orchestra. There again, it’s not so easy to equate the ’40s-style swing drummer with the drummer in the jazz/funk band Morrisey Mullen. But equate them all we must, because they all are, or have been, Gary Husband.
At the age of 16, Gary left school and became the drummer in a full-time professional big band, in which he was required to reproduce the style and sound of the ’40s. “Quite an achievement,” you are probably thinking, “but if that 16-year-old had immersed himself in that style of drumming to the exclusion of everything else. . . .”But he didn’t. For one thing, Gary’s main instrument at the time was piano, and for another, much as he loved big band music, his soul had already been touched by The Mahavishnu Orchestra. This wasn’t a case of a talented young musician who had peaked early in his career. During the 11 years since he first appeared on the professional scene, Gary has shown that he is as adept at creating the music of the present and future as he is at recreating the music of the past. He is a prime example of a young musician who has studied his art from many angles and has a clear idea of where his chosen art form is coming from, as well as the direction in which it is going. His interest in, and respect for, the music of the past in no way detracts from his determination to keep exploring fresh fields of musical endeavor, and keep his talent fresh and alive.
SG: How did you get together with Allan Holdsworth initially?
GH: In retrospect, it looks as if I did a swap with Jon Hiseman; it wasn’t planned that way, but that is more or less what happened. Allan and Jon were working on forming a band with Jack Bruce on bass, but I don’t believe they were getting much encouragement from the recording-industry people. I was working with Jon’s wife, Barbara Thompson, in her band, Paraphernalia. As it happened, I was working out two weeks’ notice with that band, and we were doing a gig at Ronnie Scott’s club in Soho. Allan came into the club with Jack Bruce. A friend who was with me was very anxious to meet Allan, so we went up and introduced ourselves. I mentioned that I was playing in the band upstairs, and they came up to listen.
About four days later, Allan rang me and asked whether I’d be interested in getting together with him for a play. So we played together, and then we started working together immediately. It gelled in a way that I had certainly never experienced before with any other musician. So Jon Hiseman became the drummer in Paraphernalia, and I joined Allan.
SG: It seems strange that Jon wasn’t with Paraphernalia from the start.
GH: Well, he had had various things of his own going, and Paraphernalia was definitely Barbara’s project. Although at the time, I think that Jon was only involved in the experimental thing with Allan and Jack, but I’d been fired from Paraphernalia, so that particular move was due to take place anyway.
I think that the lineup with Jack was destined for failure, because he was an ex-superstar, Allan was moderately well known, and I was virtually unknown. The expectations of the “business” were all wrong. So Jack left the band, and we started looking for another bass player, which wasn’t easy. What we were doing at the time with guitar and drums seemed to defy all the rules.
SG: Would you say that the bass player/drummer relationship is as important in your music as it is in something that is more groove oriented?
GH: It is as important to me as the relationship with the guitarist, so to answer your question simply—yes. But it is a relationship that we did have a lot of trouble bringing about. A lot of bass players don’t enjoy playing with a drummer who plays the way I do in I.O.U., but there are some who do. Jimmy Johnson enjoys it, which sometimes surprises me. [laughs] I try to put myself in Jimmy’s shoes and imagine what it would be like for him. I can’t imagine it being an enjoyable experience for a bass player to play with me, but he loves it. We have a great chemistry as a bass player and drummer, and as a three piece, the interaction is clear and focused. I would say that, in any musical situation, Jimmy would be the perfect bass player to be teamed up with me. It all seems natural with him. We have an instinctive feeling for time that allows it all to come together naturally.
The first guy we found who actually enjoyed playing with us was Henry Thomas. He was playing with Ginger Baker at the time. We started rehearsing and playing with him—this was ’79 into ’80, by the way—and it went well. We did some good gigs in Paris and other places in Europe, but we couldn’t get anything in London. Then Henry left to pursue something else, and we were stuck again with no bass player until we found Paul Carmichael. He enjoyed playing with us and the chemistry seemed right, so we started doing gigs again—this time under the name False Alarm.
We didn’t do many gigs, and we were having problems. Some times we would more or less have to pay to play. The expenses we incurred outweighed our fee. There were things such as having to hire the P.A. On top of this, we were having manager problems. Things weren’t advertised properly, so nobody would know. Then we’d find ourselves playing in places where they didn’t really seem to want us. There would be specialist jazz places where they didn’t want to know about any new music. That seemed really puritanical. Then there were rock venues where the reaction was even worse. We used to get people walking out in the middle of things. I did an acoustic piano solo in those days, and that was the only thing that was accepted. I don’t know why.
SG: How were you keeping body and soul together at that time?
GH: Well, Allan was actually reduced to selling his guitars to support his family. I remember a time when he didn’t actually own a guitar at all. He would have to play borrowed instruments. My own situation wasn’t so bad. I was living in London and working with a few bands. Basically, we were pursuing any direction to try to make money and keep the thing going.
SG: When success came, it was in the States. How did that happen?
GH: The first album we did, which was I.O.U. in 1980, was paid for by the band. Our bass player, Paul Carmichael, had an American friend who was interested in managing, had heard the name Allan Holdsworth, and was interested in getting us some gigs. She put together some initial gigs for us in the States, so we caught the first plane out. We took the master tape of the album with us, got it pressed, and got J.E.M. to distribute it. So all the first editions of the I.O.U. album were on mail order. I’m not sure whether any of us made any money directly from that.
When we played in America, we were welcomed. It was incredible really—playing to a lot of people who had heard about a band that Allan Holdsworth was putting together, and wanted to come out and see it. It was great. The band was an instant success. We didn’t look back. Allan didn’t even come back to England. He sent for his wife and children to come and join him, he worked for his green card, and it just all took off from there. Since then, there has been a certain amount of trial and error, working through different managers, agents, and record companies—trying always to improve the situation.
SG: One would like to think that England has its fair share of discriminating listeners. Why do you think you found instant success in America when it had eluded you here?
GH: I think it was mainly because of Allan’s past success with bands like Lifetime, Jean-Luc Ponty, and U.K., whom he had toured with previously in the States. People were curious about Allan Holdsworth, and when word got around that he was starting his own project, they wanted to hear it. His technique and the revolutionary way he plays have attracted a lot of attention. Taking the legato technique to that extent is quite an incredible thing for guitarists to watch—and listen to, hopefully.
Comparing the reaction in America with the lack of it in England, I can only really say that I suppose it is a minority-interest music, and America, being such a large place, contains larger minorities. The people might have a different attitude and be more open-minded, but I wouldn’t really like to say that. I do think, though, that the wilder side of the music tended to put people off more in England than in America. In the area of jazz, the wilder stuff is more acceptable over there. Also, with the way things are in the English music business, certain people in certain positions seem to be able to determine exactly what people want to hear and what they don’t. It’s as though people have to search for something they don’t know exists, regardless of the musical experience it could give them. This goes against the grain for me, because I regard music as one of the great stimulants and spiritual healers. I can’t underestimate people’s capacities for getting a positive experience from it.
SG: Let’s talk about your earlier career. Your first professional gig was with the Sid Lawrence Orchestra, and you were very young at the time.
GH: Yes, very young. I was 16, and that was my first professional job. My father played flute. Bless him, he’s dead now, but for 13 years, he played in an orchestra in the north of England called the Northern Dance Orchestra [N.D.O. for short]. Sid Lawrence played trumpet in the N.D.O., and he and my father were friends. So I was leaving school and ready to play in any direction, especially in a big band because I used to love big bands. At this time in my life, I would have taken any opportunity to play, no matter what the style was, but this was wonderful. It was a blissful experience for me.
I had an audition with Sid, and he seemed to think it worked out fine. I tried to acclimatize myself to the period and the music, and familiarize myself with the techniques of playing drums with a big band. There is a real accent on authenticity.
SG: Yes, we must emphasize the fact that the Sid Lawrence Orchestra isn’t just a big band, but a ’40s-style big band.
GH: Yes, strictly dance music of the ’30s and ’40s.
SG: So for somebody of the age you were then to have the right attitude, let alone the ability, would have been most unusual.
GH: I have always found adapting to different musical situations to be fairly easy. I suppose it’s because I love all kinds of music and it’s natural for me to drift from one kind of music to another. It’s instinctive. Big band music was an early love of mine.
SG: Was this your father’s influence?
GH: I should think so—that and the way I grew up around music. I used to spend a lot of my childhood watching the N.D.O. recording. [The N.D.O. was a BBC staff orchestra, so recording for broadcasts was a regular occurrence.]
SG: Were you friends with the N.D.O. drummer, Bob Turner?
GH: Oh yes! I suppose you could say that Bob Turner was my first inspiration for playing drums. It used to kill me when he would play. The way he would push the band was superb. It was something that I very much wanted to do. I think it started then: That was the beginning of playing drums for me. I was inspired to delve into all the old 78s of the big bands in my father’s record collection. This, of course, put me on just the right track for playing with Sid Lawrence later on. I could pick up a lot by listening to drummers—phrasing, fills, picking up on the things they all had in common, the way they would kick a big band along. And there is the actual sound; that’s important, too.
SG: Playing with Sid Lawrence must have been a heavy reading situation. How had you prepared for that?
GH: Very heavy, yes. With Sid, it is almost note for note. But piano was my first instrument; in fact, until just recently, I considered piano to be my main instrument. It just happens that I work on drums. So when I was studying piano, I was studying theory, reading, notation—everything I could possibly learn. I was very studious at the time. I think that reading drum music after reading piano music is definitely a simpler experience.
SG: How did your career develop from playing in a ’40s-style big band to the progressive style that you are now known for?
GH: It developed through being influenced by all kinds of music and musicians. I absorbed the expression in various musical forms—even down to the way people looked when they played. Through my love of big band music came the discovery of jazz in all its different forms. I was especially inspired by John McLaughlin’s Mahavishnu Orchestra. Now, here was a man who was dedicated to his music, which had such strong emotional content, while all the time encompassing a broad spectrum of styles, as if there were no barriers at all. I still admire him and feel a definite affinity with his musical approach. He is a person I’d love to work with.
SG: Lots of people would like to become involved in things musically, but actually doing it is another thing again. How did you do it? How did you make the transition, in a practical sense?
GH: The Sid Lawrence Orchestra was based in the north of England, and it was very much a northern thing for me. After staying with Sid for a little over a year, I left the band and moved down to London. I put my name about in all sorts of circles in the hope of finding work—just “being on the scene” as it were. I’d saved a bit of money, so I decided to give it a try.
It was late ’75/early ’76 when I set myself up in London, and fortunately, I started working almost immediately with Barbara Thompson. Then there were other jobs: various thrown-together bands, and gigs with Morrisey Mullen, The Ronnie Scott Quintet, and others.
SG: Different styles.
GH: Yes, I enjoyed all those challenges for what they were. It’s the same attitude I have now. I have a great passion for learning more in areas that will lend themselves to a spontaneous and fresh approach. Now that I am also involved again with playing piano and acoustic guitar, I find myself even more diverse in what I hope to do with each different instrument. I’m going to do some playing in my hometown, Leeds, where I’ll be playing popular songs and singing, and I’m really looking forward to that, too.
SG: You had a name as the young drummer from the Sid Lawrence Orchestra. Did you find it difficult to break away from the image of being a swing drummer?
GH: This has happened ever since those days with whatever music I have been playing. I think that, when my name comes up and anybody asks, “What kind of music does he play?” it’s difficult to place me. I’ve been heard in so many different situations, but that’s mainly through choice. I enjoy that.
I think that the typecasting tends to be in the minds of the people I play with. Sid Lawrence, for instance, thinks that his type of music is the style that I excel in. He can’t picture me being suited to any other way of playing. As far as I know, he has never listened to any I.O.U. records. He would probably be appalled if he did! [laughs]
SG: You’ve played with Gil Evans. How did that happen?
GH: That was through being around at the right time. I was playing in Simon Phillips’ spot in a group called RMS with Ray Russel and Mo Foster. At that time, they were also part of the English edition of The Gil Evans Orchestra, so I got roped in for some of those concerts. There was a possibility of doing two weeks at Ronnie Scott’s with the orchestra, but sadly, that didn’t materialize.
The freedom in that band is incredible. It’s the other end of the spectrum from a band like Sid Lawrence’s. Coming from my background, I was thinking “Wow, how can this possibly happen?” I was just waiting for everything to fall apart. But somehow, with Gil there, it doesn’t. It’s a magic he has that holds it all together. He seems to control everything without doing anything at all. It’s really quite incredible!
SG: The first I.O.U. album—the one you did all by yourselves—is basically a three piece, and yet there are some incredible sounds on it. Was Allan using guitar synth at that time?
GH: No, there wasn’t any synth. It was all guitar. You’ll have to read his interviews, because I don’t understand it either. [laughs] The setups he uses are quite incredible. So it’s just guitar on that album with, of course, the bass and drums, although there are some vocals by Paul Williams, and my bit of acoustic piano on “Temporary Fault.”
SG: Had you been performing this material before recording it?
GH: Yes, we had been performing that stuff for a good year before actually putting it down on tape. We don’t tend to work like that anymore. We record things, and then we go out and perform them.
SG: You must find that the material develops in performance.
GH: Yeah, lots of strange things can happen to numbers after they have been performed a few times. Bits get stretched. Sometimes the whole feeling of a number can change. And they get faster, but what band doesn’t get faster towards the end of a tour? The way Allan composes and plays has a very abstract rhythm, but it is based on a steady pulse. So there is room to change the placement of things if he is feeling them differently.
SG: How do you develop your drum parts for his compositions?
GH: I get demos from Allan that are usually finished pieces. By that I mean that there is a guitar part and a foot tap—something like that—which demonstrates the entire structure of the piece. Sometimes it is so free that it’s up to me to find where the pulse is. We seem to be able to feel things in the same way and to connect on ideas. I work on these things, and it does sometimes happen that I get the completely wrong idea of where the pulse is, but he likes it, so we go ahead with it like that. It’s a pretty strange way to do things, I suppose, but it seems to work.
SG: Do you mean that Allan fixes the main shape of the composition before the band gets to work on it, and it doesn’t change?
GH: For the most part, yes, but he is open to suggestions. For instance, on “The Un-Merry-Go-Round” [Metal Fatigue—’84] there was a time relationship that I was very fond of, which was basically a new, but related, pulse taking off on the quarter-note triplet of the old pulse—and vice versa. It’s extremely effective in music, and something that opens up a lot of logical rhythmic improvisation. That was my idea, and I think that Allan was pleased with it.
SG: “The Un-Merry-Go-Round” features an extended solo from you. How do you go about constructing a solo of this sort?
GH: Well, for a start, I certainly don’t have any preconceptions of how it is going to materialize. I merely try to concentrate, while relying on accumulated knowledge in the subconscious, and on being clear and articulate about the way it happens to go. It’s almost totally instinctive; it feels as though the music just flows through me and out through the drums. Strong discipline and concentration are also important when constructing solos. It is something I regard as a statement or a story that is only relevant to the mood and inspiration of the moment itself. So I follow my feelings and try not to think about it.
SG: You left I.O.U. for a while and rejoined halfway through the recording of Metal Fatigue in ’84. Why was that?
GH: There was a lot of turmoil in my life in 1982. My father had just died, and there were problems about my being in America, which I’ve since sorted out. Without anything actually being said, the band broke up. Paul Carmichael and I returned to England. Allan reformed with Chad Wackerman and Jeff Berlin. There was, however, always the possibility of my rejoining when I had things sorted out. Allan said that I played drums the way he heard them.
SG: Why did the later editions of I.O.U. feature keyboards?
GH: After three years of having no harmonic movement under him while he was playing solos, I think that Allan was finding it a little wearing. He welcomes having that harmonic movement as well as there being another soloist. I think he enjoys being able to relax occasionally. It’s hard with a three piece, especially for him. I also think that it makes it easier for the audience to relate to the composition when there’s another instrument there. When Allan takes a solo with just the bass and drums behind him, there is an element missing—even when there is a bass player who is as good with chords as Jimmy is. It doesn’t always work, and there is so much more pressure on him in a three piece than with four. However, I can’t help feeling that the band was more accessible and musically balanced when we had my good friend Paul Williams, the singer, with us. Brilliant as Allan is with the heights he reaches, I often feel that the music could be more effective if it were condensed a little in terms of the instrumental “band show.”
SG: The title track on Atavachron has a fairly straight feel to it. How do you go about developing a different drum part to something like this, in which a standard sort of rhythm would fit?
GH: I would call that drum composition—trying to compose a drum part that is a rhythmic countermelody to what the band is playing. I am given the freedom to do that, and I really enjoy it; it’s something I feel I am good at. I spend a lot of time in planes, trains, and cars, and I can turn my mind to certain beats and how they might be employed in a musical setting. You start hearing the pulse, and then you hear lots of things around it. I end up using a lot of these beats with Allan’s music. They just fall into place, or I can change them very slightly. It’s nice. I can give birth to them in a setting in which they really sound good. I like beats that seem to trip and make you catch your breath. The one on “Atavachron” is like that.
SG: Why did Tony Williams play on “Looking Glass” instead of you? There is a different drum sound, but to me, the styles are very similar.
GH: I am very glad that Tony plays on that track. It’s ideal for the way he plays and the looseness he has. In many ways, that tune is a better vehicle for Tony than for me. We were going to try it with me as well, at another time, but when that was due to happen, Allan got ill. So there was no question: Tony’s version went on the album. With the way Allan works, he welcomes different personalities for different pieces. I can never be sure what’s going to be on there when an album comes out.
SG: There is a drum machine on “Dominant Plague.” Were you involved with that at all?
GH: No, I wasn’t even there. Allan did all that with rhythmic sampling.
SG: Did you then reproduce that on stage?
GH: We didn’t do that piece on stage. It sounds better with electronic drums, and at the moment, I don’t have any of that sort of equipment suitable for use on stage.
SG: What is your attitude towards electronics? Do you intend to use any in the future?
GH: Although it’s a little late, I am very interested in getting into electronics. I’m fascinated by the possibilities. I have an idea for playing basically in the same manner as I do with acoustic drums, but using electric drums. I haven’t heard many people do that, and I think the results could be quite staggering. Unfortunately, I haven’t had the financial means to start experimenting with these things yet. Another reason why I’ve been hesitating over electronics is that I hate the idea of mixing electric and acoustic pieces together as one instrument. I love cymbals, and I haven’t yet heard an electronic cymbal that sounds like a cymbal. White noise, yes, but not a cymbal. But I still think there’s a lot I’d like to be doing on those drums.
SG: Since we have gotten onto the subject of equipment . . . .
GH: In the States, I have a Tama endorsement. The kit I’ve gotten from Tama is an Artstar comprising: 9 x 10, 11 X 12, and 13 x 14 hanging toms; 16 x 16 and 16×18 floor toms; a 22″ bass drum; and a 5 1/2 X 14 snare drum. I use Pinstripe batter heads on the toms with clear Ambassadors underneath. For the bass drum, I use a variety of different things depending on the situation. I like to use two heads and no damping. It’s difficult, but when it works, it’s great. I enjoy working at something like that and getting results. I had a six-piece Gretsch kit—the one on the I.O.U. album— which I kept for use in England for a long time, but I will be getting another kit from Tama to replace it. My cymbals, by the way, are all Zildjians. I use a 22″ ride, two 18″ crashes, and a 16″ crash, which are all Brilliant K’s, with 14″ K hi-hat cymbals.
SG: Using Gretsch and then Artstar, you seem to be in favor of thin-shelled drums.
GH: I particularly like the South American cordia wood shells on the Artstars. They seem to have the right chemistry. They are similar to the Gretsch in some ways, but there are differences. But yes, I do like drums of this type. They have a very good response for the extremes of dynamic playing.
I like to have extreme tonal differences between the tom-toms: going from very high to very low, in the space of five drums. The smallest tom is cranked up so that it is in the tonal region of the snare drum, and the large floor tom is almost down to the register of the bass drum, so it is an acoustically balanced kit.
SG: What sort of miking do you use on stage with I.O.U.?
GH: I use the May EA system with internally suspended micro phones in each drum. I also have a mic’ on the hi-hat and one, or if possible two, overheads to pick up the sound of the cymbals.
SG: What about monitors?
GH: We don’t carry our own P.A., so we have to use different things in different places. Sometimes we just have to make the best of it. But ideally, I like to get a stereo setup behind me of drums and guitar. I can hear the bass and keyboards sufficiently well acoustically. When we play the bigger places, I sometimes can’t really feel my own playing because I am hearing so much bass; so having the drums in the monitors is very helpful to me.
SG: I wonder whether an electric jazz band that depends on interaction between the players has a different set of problems from, on the one hand, the jazz band that plays acoustically, and on the other hand, the rock band whose parts are more or less set?
GH: I would say that we probably have fewer problems. When I’ve played in rock groups, I have usually had trouble hearing myself, and with acoustic jazz groups, I’ve had horrendous problems trying to get a monitor system for an acoustic piano, for instance. Those things have ended up much more nightmarish than anything I’ve experienced with Allan’s band. It usually works pretty well for us: the way we set up and the way we go about getting what we want from the monitors.
SG: Have you always used matched grip?
GH: No, I started out using the traditional grip, but I found that the matched grip made things more accessible: the type of drumkit I was playing, the cymbal positions, and so on. Also, it was crucially important to me to develop an ambidextrous approach, so that in sticking terms, I’d be able to come out of certain things and not have to worry about which hand I was coming out on. I used to enjoy doing what Billy Cobham was doing: putting the ride cymbal over on the left and playing that way.
It’s an attitude that different people have about having a right hand and a left hand. I remember reading that Tony Williams said he really likes the feeling of two hands working in different ways. One is driving along and the other is supporting it. I’m not sure that I’m quoting him accurately, but that’s the general idea. I can understand the feeling, but it doesn’t work so well for me.
SG: Are you very technique conscious as a player?
GH: No, quite the opposite, in fact. I’m fairly indolent as far as any technical preparation for playing is concerned. I sometimes feel guilty because I should do more actual physical practice. However, I do a great deal of thinking about drums and listening to drums. Without actually moving my limbs, I can feel myself playing beats or moving around the drums working things out. It’s all in the mind, but I still call it practice. On the physical side, it’s just a matter of warming up before gigs and generally trying to keep myself in shape.
SG: Your approach to the drumkit seems to be that it is much more than a rhythm instrument.
GH: Yes. I’ve always been fascinated by Indian percussion. The mathematics in Indian music is quite incredible, and it’s not something that I can claim to understand properly. There is a freedom that they have within odd-time signatures. They can stretch things but know exactly where they will fall. That and the fantastic different rhythms and tones they have certainly influenced me along the way.
Another thing is that I like to incorporate the whole set into the beats I play, rather than simply using the tom-toms in a standard way just for fills. I’m interested in what I think of as “effect playing”: having sudden rises and falls—being surprising, or almost shocking. It makes people sit up and take notice and say, “What was that?”
SG: There are standard drummers’ tricks, such as doubling up the tempo, superimposing triplets, and so on, but you take it further.
GH: What I do is more relentless—more exaggerated. It’s incorporated into the whole style of playing. One of my ambitions, using this approach, is to try to refine these ideas and focus them so that they will become a lot more accessible to people. I would like to bring these ideas out, so there can be no mistaking them when they happen. That way, they mean more. They are part of what’s going on—not something accidental, or a technical trick for its own sake.
As a drummer, I’ve always been very conscious of the need to be very clear about my own ideas and making them sound that way to other people when they hear them. To be able to play these things, I think it’s important that you can sing them first. You can liken that to the Indian approach. If you can sing something, you can play it. It is necessary to equip yourself with the technique and knowledge of what you are trying to do. When I play on stage, I have to concentrate on what I am achieving—the end result, not the technique. Otherwise, I’m likely to fall apart. This is why the mental practice is so important to me. It’s all there in the subconscious, and I can just draw on it.
SG: How do you see your career developing in the future?
GH: I would like to see myself involved in a variety of projects that would all be relevant to the way I feel about music. It could be drums, piano, or guitar. I would certainly like to continue a crucial and unique musical relationship with a guy named Steve Topping, who, although he is at present unknown in America, is a force for the future as a guitarist and composer. Eventually, I would like to have a band of my own, featuring my compositions as well as my playing. I’d like it to be accessible as well as meaningful, with lots of room to grow and to be spontaneous. Most of all, I think of music as an especially powerful force and influence, so I’d like to make people feel as moved and as stimulated by something I do as I have been through other people’s music.
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