The improvising pianist Cecil Taylor, a pioneering, influential and highly experimental musician and a longtime Brooklyn resident, is one of this year’s recipients of the Kyoto Prize, awarded each year by the Inamori Foundation in Japan, the foundation announced on Friday. Mr. Taylor, 84, is this year’s laureate in the category of arts and philosophy; different fields across technology, science, art and philosophy are considered on a rotating basis, and there has been a recipient in music every four years. (The last musician laureate in 2009 was the conductor and composer Pierre Boulez.) The prize comes with a cash gift of 50 million yen (approximately $510,000), to be given at a ceremony in Kyoto in November. This year’s other laureates are the electronics engineer Dr. Robert H. Dennard and the evolutionary biologist Dr. Masatoshi Nei.
Live (solo), Germany (Berlin), 1991 (The Tree of Life)
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lagniappe
musical thoughts: following yesterday’s post
With live music, you’ve got to be ready when it is. Last night, after looking forward to an evening of Ethiopian dance, of saxophones and drums, at the Hideout, I just wasn’t in the mood. Instead I listened, in my living room, to something else—Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor for solo violin, played by Nathan Milstein. On another night that would have seemed as foreign to me as this kinetic dance music did last night. But we can only hear with the ears we’ve got, which, like the rest of us, are ever changing, often in ways we neither anticipate nor understand.
Space is a valuable commodity in music. Too many musicians rush through everything with too many notes. I need time to take the picture. A ballad should be a ballad. It’s important to understand what the song is saying, and learn how to tell the story. It takes time. I can’t rush it. I really can’t rush it.
Brian Blade (drums) & The Fellowship Band, with Brady L. Blade Sr. (vocals), “Amazing Grace,” live, Savannah, Ga. (2012)
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lagniappe
reading table
Some things endure. When my sons, Alex and Luke, were in grade school, I started a two-person “reading group” with each of them. We would read novels together, maybe one a month, alternating choices, and go out and talk about them over a meal. Alex is now twenty-five. This morning we’re going out for breakfast, where we’ll be talking about a short story by Richard Yates, “Oh, Joseph, I’m So Tired.” Of stories there is no end.
When Franklin D. Roosevelt was President-elect there must have been sculptors all over America who wanted a chance to model his head from life, but my mother had connections.
—Richard Yates (1926-1992), “Oh, Joseph, I’m So Tired” (first sentence)