Daniel Levi Goans answered the Fox Questionnaire.
You’re an instrument. What are you and who’s playing you?
“A worn out guitar with no label, played by somebody nameless, on a porch, singing about sorrow and hope to their children or something” (that’s what my fiance said, I’m going to defer to her on this one)
You make music because…
It seems to pour out when I leave any space at all. I hear additional melodies on top of most songs I listen to and have often felt like music puts electricity into my bloodstream. I’ve always felt like I’m supposed to communicate something. Where my spoken words left off, I discovered that sounds can sometimes approach meaning.
Which song is stuck in your head right now?
Rusted Root “Send Me On My Way” – which I haven’t heard in at least five years…peculiar.
What makes you mad, what calms you down?
I get mad when people (myself included) are not true to their word. As for what calms me, stillness, and the ocean along with other bodies of water.
The most beautiful sound to your ears?
I find an upright bass played with a bow extremely beautiful…also, wind rustling tall trees.
And the ugliest one?
Either people chewing with their mouths open or the sound of someone emptying a trash can filled with beer bottles.
You can ask anyone one question. What is it?
What makes you feel alive?
Your best live memory?
A few years back I had the honor of performing for a group of wonderful women recovering from addictions or leaving prostitution on the street to start new lives. It was a chili cook-off and I was the entertainment. The entire show was significant in the way we all connected through songs, but one moment in particular I will never forget. As I performed one of the songs off of BrotherStranger entitled “Family Name,” a transformation took place. I’ve never been more honored by an audience’s attention. The women leaned toward me with closed eyes, sighing as the lyrics I sang seemed to take new shape and tell some of their stories. The sounds resonated on a a level far deeper than I could have intended. It was as if the women felt empathized with, although I’ve never experienced even a fraction of the difficulty each of them has. Something mysterious had taken place and the lyrics I wrote about my own emotional experience grew in the potent presence of these brave survivors. I felt as though I was being greatly ennobled and receiving a gift even as I offered up my song. Some of the women added their voices to mine, speaking out loud, “That’s right…my, my, my…ain’t it true…mmm…” I was on holy ground and the sound’s significance had little to do with me.
The best advice you could give anyone?
I’m not old enough to answer this question.