This is true: In town there is an alleyway courtyard shared by two restaurants with patios. Both restaurants have an outdoor speaker system and play different radio stations at the same time. Different songs overlap and it is incredibly overstimulating. The patios illustrate that it has become worth asking the strange question of “Is there too much music in the world?” Not because there necessarily is, or even that there ever could be, but because silence and purpose have become increasingly rare-found gifts in the world. Anymore, to add noise may be to subtract silence from the world, and what a shame for art to be reduced to mere pollution.
Music used to be what writer Milan Kundera called a single, red rose blooming on a snowscape of silence: beauty suspended in time and space, to live once and die with the moment until a future time. You had to wait for it. And when it came again it washed over you deeply and softly because you understood you couldn’t collect it, but only be present with it.
The music of Endless Forms aims to settle in this tension of creating in an already crowded world – to create a window through which to engage the world rather than escape from or dilute it. Endless Forms seeks this difficult but possible reality of achieving peace and personal wholeness in an unfathomable and unresolving world. We ask what it means to let oneself be recreated and find meaning in pain and cosmic loneliness, asking the hard-pressed but oft-avoided questions of what peace is on this side of death, when the world is still churning and changing, where to look for God in a world so bereft and hungry for truth and connection, and aims to courageously disconnect from the pathological attempts to feel happily in control when we secretly and deeply know our worlds are slipping from our hands, all with a faith that the excruciating honesty will somehow illuminate something beyond the death of it all.