Lacrimosa

It has been quite a long time since I seriously listened to Lacrimosa's music. Just now I finished Hohelied Der Liebe. I was so greatly interrupted by the music that I visualised pictures of a world materialised by such substantive musicality. You may think it a bit hard to understand this statement. Let me use an example. In a vacant opera house, a clown stands on the stage all alone, playing the violin, with the company of a few torches behind him, the smoke of which dances gracefully and only gracefully without the currents of wind. Who is he playing for? Why does he need to play the violin alone without audience? What such music could have visualised such desolate scene, such desolate beauty, such desolate bereavement which still is more worth than the realities expressed in our world?

Our world, if you call it a reality, is so in lack of beauty per se that there is no reason to appreciate it. But with some of us, the true musicians of our world, our world is recreated, by means of music, in such a way that it is no longer what it is, but another world materialised by the vision of the artists. The stories they tell of and in this world mimick our world's incidents but have become the stories beyond our world's appreciation. So what are these stories and the pictures this music creates? I should perhaps call them the Idea of beauty. Appreciate the Idea of beauty and then our world begins to show its worth of being, for it holds us, who create and appreciate the music that turns the non-descript and unworthy world to one that is mysterious but adorable.