Classically Trained Bongoist

​What is wrong with the basics!  There is an important truth in the unaltered, unadjusted form.  I’m not saying improvement is wrong or that growth in concept or innovation is a bad thing, but what about that original concept.  When people refer to the basics or the fundamentals of something it is always perceivedas a starting point, but often times, we begin something only to realize we preferred how it all began to where it is now.  Human nature secretly yearns for the simplistic, but will never admit it for fear of being deemed simple.      

The Arts are the best medium to make my thoughts clearer, in particular the area of music. For instance, the bongo is an instrument rooted in simplicity: someone hits it and it makes noise. It’s a hollow, barrel-shaped structure with a fiber stretched across the top. Just hit the skin or fiber and the sound echoes, do it a bunch and it builds a rhythm. Simple and effective. However, I’m sure at some point in the bongo’s history someone thought to look into complicating the bongo. I’m sure someone spent countless hours devising a proper hand position to strike the bongo and terminology to explain said position or the scale the bongo should register in or something along those lines. Ultimately, the elegance of this seemingly rudimentary instrument was lost. Now I don’t pretend that an expansion of understanding about a subject ruins it; I only mean to state that a simplification of a subject doesn’t always mean a regression.

There was a time – as science and technology slept like the proverbial dragon atop of a wealth knowledge and understanding – that Arts like literature and music were left to develop and grow without the skepticism they now face about their overall knowledge value. That time was spent over-analyzing the many art forms instead of solidifying the simple connections that aesthetics and expression have with the Human Spirit. Consequently, as technology continues to march us closer and closer to some sort of Terminator-esque Doomscapelittered with the corpses of our murdered Privacy and starved Discovery there is no foil in sight. There is no cry for the simple beautiful picture or poem or the pure sound that comes from the heroic Bongo.