Time & Perspective Quote by Al Jarreau

My eyes went blank is a performer admitting the moment the self gets switched off and something larger takes the mic. Jarreau frames creativity as dissociation, not in the bleak clinical sense, but as a practiced surrender: the mind empties, the gaze goes distant, and then the music arrives. It’s a neat reversal of the usual mythology where artists “dig deep” and “express themselves.” Here, expression happens when the ego stops insisting on being the narrator.

The weather does the heavy lifting. Rain and sun at once is an old image, but Jarreau makes it tactile and local: bay windows, drizzle, blue sky, sun on trees. That specificity reads like a musician’s ear translated into vision - he’s describing atmosphere the way he’d describe a groove: layered, simultaneous, slightly contradictory, all of it happening in one bar. The mixed meteorology becomes an external metaphor for what the music is doing internally: melancholy and brightness coexisting without needing to resolve.

Subtextually, it’s also about craft disguised as accident. You don’t get to “the music started” without years of training that make blankness safe - a body that knows where the notes are even when the conscious brain steps aside. In an era that loves confessional authenticity, Jarreau offers a different kind: the honesty of being a conduit. The scene isn’t dramatic; it’s domestic, almost cinematic through those big windows. That’s the point. Inspiration doesn’t strike like lightning. Sometimes it drizzles.