It's been an intense few days. Hours of music production, late nights, constantly rolling thoughts and reflection. Time for a summation of why I make music.

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Making music is a frivolous task at the best of times, even more so when you are mainly working with a mouse in a bedroom. Making a living from it is a dark art that I'd suggest to very few. So what is the appeal?

It's for those rare moments when, if only for a minute, you're inexplicably transported by vibrations. You shake your musical cocktail and instead of its contents pouring too sweet, too confused, it is like drinking a lost memory. Every sip is a new recollection.

It is sad when that drink loses its potency, when you hear something on the radio only to find its just a collection of notes and words, tapping inside your ears for your attention. Making music, ironically, teaches you keenly to lose touch with this magic - to learn all the tricks and twists of the musical knots inside our head and undo them. It can be so sad making music.

So it is a greater feeling, a more perfect sip, when you finally create something that you briefly melt into. It leads you down into a valley you haven't seen for ages, as if it was the set of a dream, and you remember vividly why music is your chosen waste of time. 

All for a taste, or a flash-frame, of the timeless.