For most people, cliffhangers are the worst. But you know what? I don’t really mind them. So for a moment, forget about the water key (Can you?).

Who is Sevish?

Sevish, is an electronic music composer based in London, UK. The song, Droplet is on his 2015 release, Rhythm and Xen.

Rhythm, that’s pretty straight forward. But what is Xen?

Xen is short for Xenharmonic music, a way to write music “with new harmonic relationships that humankind has never heard before.”

So how does that work?

Think of a guitar, or a piano. They all have the same notes:
C D E F G A B. These are the white keys on a piano.

Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Ti.

And then you have the black keys:
C# D# F# G# A#

Thus, we arrive at a grand total of 12 notes. If you live in the Western world, there’s a good chance every song you have ever heard was created from these 12 tones, and only these 12 tones. This tuning and it’s harmonic relationships are deeply ingrained. It’s become second nature. It doesn’t take a musician to tell you when a guitar is out of tune. Your ear just knows.

But technically, wouldn’t there be other notes in between the “real” notes? This is where using color as a metaphor comes in handy.

Let’s say you have a box of crayons. It’s a 12-pack. So you have 12 colors to work with. You can mix those colors together to make other colors. Some of the combinations are nice, others, not so much. This is similar to how notes are combined to make chords in music.

But an artist, a master painter for example, doesn’t use a 12-pack of crayons. Rather, they are experts at mixing colors. They can mix their paints to get those 12 colors, and every shade in between. And combining the in between shades will make more new in between shades. Which can then be combined. And so on.

So why do painters have access to the full spectrum of color while musicians are stuck using the same 12-pack of notes over and again? For now, we’ll just say “because, ‘tradition'” because the real answer involves recounting history outside the scope of our focus here.

The idea of limitless new note combinations is intriguing. And incredibly daunting. That’s where Sevish comes in. He’s made it his mission to not only compose xenharmonic music, but collect resources to make writing Xen music more accessible to everyone. I am especially grateful for his work. Because for me, it has unlocked a new universe of creative possibility in music composition.

So Droplet, the water key, grants access to xenharmonic music, the water world. A place where boundaries are redefined, if not removed altogether. A place where shapes, sounds, and textures have shifted slightly and become a little odd. A little curious. In some cases a little more refined. And in others, a little more challenging than we’re used to.

A treasure seeker who finds a chest will wish also to find its key. To open the chest, seize the treasure, and complete the journey. But a key is not always a means to an end. When we’re lucky, it’s a means to begin. A way into a previously inaccessible area. A chance to explore the unexplored.

One day, I found a song called Droplet. By this artist called Sevish. I’d never heard of him. But the song was immediately pleasing. A peaceful intro with a lone synth. It’s texture as a smooth as glass. Then, bass. The sound was transporting. I was on a summer hike at dawn, when sunlight starts to peek through the fog. There was a sense of dreamlike familiarity. I could see my feet moving, one in front of the other. I knew this path because I’d hiked it before. But it felt different, just subtly. Like the sun was shining from the wrong direction. 

I saw the ground sparkle in an unusual way. My previous line of thought evaporated. What is that? I bent down slowly, careful to keep my eye on the spot where I saw the reflected light.  It looked like a key. But it was nearly transparent. The sun must have caught it just right. How many people before me must have walked right over this mysterious object?

I turned it over, passing it back and forth between my hands. It really looked like a key. But it’s material? It almost seemed to be made out of … no. I don’t understand how it could be that.

The shape of this object was unmistakable. It was a key. 

But it seemed to be made out of .. out of water.

Water?

How can a key be made out of water? 

But the shape was clear. It is a key. I know what a key is. And now, the material was clear too. Water. No doubt. 

Fascination replaced disbelief. I watched it’s flowing appearance change naturally as the key moved in my hands. Like water swirling in a glass. Except there was no container. Nothing I could see that would be responsible for holding this water in such a defined shape. 

I noticed my legs had resumed their operation. Now at a faster pace, as if closing in on a destination. But where? My hike had begun leisurely, with no particular destination in mind. Now, leisure was replaced with a sense of purpose, a mission. And yet no more direction than before. 

The fog had since retreated from it’s standoff with the sun. And my eyelids began a defensive against oncoming beads of sweat. Thank you eyelids, for keeping my vision uninterrupted right now. My eyes focused on the edges of the trail, alert for any additional abnormalities. 

What did I expect to encounter? A water lock for my water key? A water safe, full of water jewels? A water doorway into a water world?

 Of course. A water world. Absolute purity. No hard surfaces or sharp edges. And just think, when light touches anything? Rainbows abound. Millions of colors. Cascading, combining. Maybe forming new shades, never before seen by humans.

My eyes flickered their focus back to my hands, confirming that impossible key remained in my possession. Yes. 

Now, eyes up. Back to the search. 

To be continued…

Here are 8 universal lessons I’ve learned from my work as a musician. Inspired by this thought provoking twitter thread by David Perell. 

1. An instrument is only as good as its player.
2. Great work can be boiled down to a formula. But following a formula will not yield great work. 
3. If it sounds good, it is good.
4. Tension and dissonance can arouse intrigue for a moment. But they quickly grow tiresome. 
5. Flow comes when you let go.
6. People view your work through the lens of your persona.
7. If you’re not unique, a better version of you already exists. Be yourself and you will be unique.
8. Practice makes perfect. But perfect is not relatable. Emotional connection goes further than demonstrations of sheer skill.  

If I missed any good ones, let me know on twitter, @jromejko.