The Eternal Musical Wonder

There are moments in life when you feel as though you’ve crossed an invisible threshold. For me, that moment came in my teenage years, when I plunged into the world of Metal. I still remember the shock of hearing, for the very first time, the fierce riffs of Guns N’ Roses, the crushing power of Metallica, the warrior energy of Iron Maiden, and the dark virtuosity of Megadeth. Each band was a gateway to a whole new world.

Step by step, curiosity led me deeper into the subgenres: heavy metal, which laid the foundations; thrash metal, which sped things up and bit harder; techno-thrash, reserved for the initiated; and soon enough, death metal, with its visceral darkness. Then came the more adventurous shores of progressive metal, where technique serves imagination. Each time, it was like opening a sonic picture book, turning page after page, album after album—exploring discographies, learning biographies. Every discovery was a gem, and I devoured it with the passion of an explorer setting foot on an unknown continent.

But sometimes, on this quest, one album stands apart, like a beacon of light. For me, that album was Focus by Cynic. To this day, it remains my favorite record of all time. It embodied something unique: a form of technical death metal unafraid to open itself to jazz-rock, new-age, even almost spiritual atmospheres. It was then I realized that a genre is never a cage, but a constellation—where influences meet, feed one another, and reinvent themselves. That album was a revelation, a calling.

Jazz, I already sensed, would eventually claim a central place in my life. I had explored jazz fusion – Return to Forever, Weather Report, Uzeb – and I had been captivated by the modal jazz of Miles Davis. But in recent years, my joy lies elsewhere: in the old standards, in pieces that feel both simple and endlessly rich, in improvisations that reinvent the same theme over and over again. It is like rediscovering the same story told by an infinity of different voices.

And then, there are the journeys. Because music is also that: a universal passport. Today, I find joy in diving into Brazilian music, in the mesmerizing rhythms of Africa, in Indian ragas, and the subtle sonorities of Japan. Each discovery is a departure, a stopover, an immersion. At times, I feel like a child on Christmas morning, eyes shining before a tree covered in mysterious gifts.

Metal may no longer give me the same rush of adrenaline it once did, but it remains my starting point—the root from which everything else has grown. In the end, it wasn’t just about riffs or solos; it was about the promise of a journey. And that journey never ends.