Let’s return to New York for another take on piano and string quartet.
Vijay Iyer (piano) and the Brentano String Quartet, from “Time, Place, Action” (V. Iyer), live, New York, 2014
*****
Happy (88th) birthday to my mother, who’s been dead almost two decades. When it comes to longevity, my genes are lousy. But, always, there’s today.
alone
Terry Riley (piano), live (sound: 0:16-), Moscow, 2000
two takes
Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975), String Quartet No. 10, 3rd movt.
Fabian Almazan Trio with String Quartet, live, New York, 2012
***
Borodin Quartet, recording
**********
lagniappe
random thoughts
If life weren’t so sad, it wouldn’t be life.
tonight in Chicago
These guys will be playing at Constellation, a performing-arts center owned by the drummer.
Roscoe Mitchell (reeds) & Mike Reed (drums, electronics), live, Poland (Poznan), 2013
#1
#2
soundtrack to a dream
Morton Feldman (1926-1987), The Viola in My Life; João Pedro Delgado (viola), et al., live, Portugal, 2014
#1
#2
#3
#4
**********
lagniappe
reading table
The Suicide’s Room
by Wislawa Szymborska (1923-2012; MCOTD Hall-of-Famer), translated from Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare CavanaghI’ll bet you think the room was empty.
Wrong. There were three chairs with sturdy backs.
A lamp, good for fighting the dark.
A desk, and on the desk a wallet, some newspapers.
A carefree Buddha and a worried Christ.
Seven lucky elephants, a notebook in a drawer.
You think our addresses weren’t in it?No books, no pictures, no records, you guess?
Wrong. A comforting trumpet poised in black hands.
Saskia and her cordial little flower.
Joy the spark of gods.
Odysseus stretched on the shelf in life-giving sleep
after the labors of Book Five.
The moralists
with the golden syllables of their names
inscribed on finely tanned spines.
Next to them, the politicians braced their backs.No way out? But what about the door?
No prospects? The window had other views.
His glasses
lay on the windowsill.
And one fly buzzed—that is, was still alive.You think at least the note could tell us something.
But what if I say there was no note—
and he had so many friends, but all of us fit neatly
inside the empty envelope propped up against a cup.
sounds of Chicago
8 Bold Souls,* live, Poland (Poznan), 2009
#1
#2
#3
#4
#5
#6
*****
*Edward Wilkerson Jr., reeds; Mwata Bowden, reeds; Tomeka Reid, cello; Isaiah Jackson, trombone; Gerald Powell, tuba; Robert Griffin, trumpet; Harrison Bankhead, bass; Dushun Mosley, drums.
The only risk is that you’ll go insane . . .
Flume (AKA Harley Streten), live, London (Boiler Room), 2013
**********
lagniappe
art beat
Kristín Ómarsdóttir (1962-), Iceland, 2013
summer in the city
Chance The Rapper (1993-), “Wonderful Everyday: Arthur,” live, Chicago (Lollapalooza), 8/3/14
***
Another take (recording with Wyclef Jean, Jessie Ware, et al., 2014)
**********
lagniappe
reading table
the only hope is to be the daylight
—W. S. Merwin, “Living with the News,” last line (New Yorker, 7/28/14)
summer in the city
Chvrches, live, Chicago (Lollapalooza), 8/1/14
sounds of Zimbabwe
Bhundu Boys, “Hupenyu Hwangu,” live, 1980s
**********
lagniappe
reading table
Yesterday’s email brought this from a reader.
The Layers
by Stanley Kunitz (1905-2006)I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.
music clip of the day 