You can get too bogged down in technology and you can sort of

Chris Lowe, the quiet architect of sound, once spoke with a clarity that cuts through the noise of modern life: “You can get too bogged down in technology and you can sort of forget what it is you were trying to do. And with the Pet Shop Boys it’s primarily about the songs, it’s about song writing.” These words, though uttered in the context of music, echo far beyond the stage. They speak to the eternal struggle between the tool and the purpose, between the means and the end. For when man worships his instruments, he risks forgetting the song he was meant to sing.

The ancients too knew this truth. The blacksmith’s forge, the scribe’s pen, the painter’s brush—all are tools, yet none are the essence. The forge exists to create, the pen to convey, the brush to reveal. To mistake the tool for the purpose is to become enslaved to the very thing meant to serve you. Thus Lowe warns us: do not be lost in the shimmer of technology, for it is only the servant, never the master. The essence is the song, the vision, the story that breathes life into all creation.

History offers a mighty example. When the builders of the great cathedrals of Europe labored, they wielded stone, timber, and glass. Yet they did not worship the hammer nor the chisel. Their purpose was higher: to create sanctuaries where heaven and earth seemed to touch. Imagine if they had become fixated on tools alone—the cathedral would never rise, its meaning never fulfilled. Just so, in music or in life, the spirit must not be lost in obsession with devices. The purpose, like the cathedral’s spire, must always point upward.

Lowe speaks of the Pet Shop Boys, but in truth, he speaks of every human endeavor. The song is not only melody and lyric—it is the essence of a dream, the expression of what the soul longs to say. In your life, the song may be your calling, your vision, your true purpose. The technology, whether computers, machines, or distractions, may aid you, but if you cling too tightly to it, you risk silence. The song fades, the purpose is forgotten, and you are left with lifeless noise.

This wisdom compels us to vigilance. Let not the glittering distractions of our age bury the essence of your work. Ask yourself: what is my song? What truth am I trying to express? Let this be your compass. Use tools, yes, but never bow to them. Let them serve your spirit, not command it. For tools without vision are as empty as a harp without strings, while vision without tools is still alive, waiting for the breath of action.

The lesson is both simple and profound: never forget the song. Whether in music, art, craft, or daily life, remember the heart of why you labor. If you are a teacher, your song is not in the chalk or the screen, but in the awakening of young minds. If you are a healer, your song is not in the machines, but in the restoration of life and hope. If you are a creator, your song is not in the software, but in the truth you long to reveal. Always, the song is higher than the instrument.

Therefore, let Lowe’s words be a warning and an inspiration. Do not drown in the waters of technology, nor forget the shore to which you were sailing. Hold fast to your song, nurture it, and let every tool you wield serve its unfolding. For in the end, when all machines have rusted and all tools have broken, it is the song—the truth, the vision, the creation—that endures, echoing through time like the voice of the ancients calling us to remember what truly matters.