music clip of the day

jazz/blues/rock/classical/gospel/more

Category: reading table

Sunday, August 10th

testify!

Sonz of God, “Show Me the Way,” live, Memphis, 2014


**********

lagniappe

reading table

The bigness of the world is redemption. Despair compresses you into a small space, and a depression is literally a hollow in the ground. To dig deeper into the self, to go underground, is sometimes necessary, but so is the other route of getting out of yourself, into the larger world, into the openness in which you need not clutch your story and your troubles so tightly to your chest.

—Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby

Thursday, August 7th

4ⁿ

Bela Bartok (1881-1945), String Quartet No. 4 in C major, Quatuor Ebène, live


**********

lagniappe

reading table

Sometimes it feels like a writer is speaking directly to you. Yesterday, before catching a flight to Orlando, then driving sixty miles to this hotel, which I’ll soon be leaving to see a client at a federal prison, I happened upon this.

in and out
of prison they go . . .
baby sparrows

—Kobayashi Issa (1763-1827; translated from Japanese by David G. Lanoue)

Tuesday, August 5th

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)

 

Sunday, August 3rd

back to church

“Wade in the Water,” St. James Missionary Baptist Church, Canton, Miss., 1978


**********

lagniappe

reading table

Serenity
by Nina Cassian (1924-2014)

There’ll be a time, serene, a time for hymns.
I’ll underline the air with just one gesture,
and I will utter stainless words.

I will say “sky” and “brook” and I’ll say “sun”
and “tear” and “music” and “immunity.”
There’ll be a time, a time when memory
of massacres won’t reach me anymore,
turning instead into a distant breeze of poetry
as sometimes blood itself exhales.

From all that once had been promiscuous,
only the sacred will remain, and I will praise
the contrasts, reconciled, forgiven and forgiving.
So I’ll say “sky” and “sun” and “music”
and sky will be, and sun will be, and music
will be around me and around the world.
I’ll let the vowels all regain their halo.

And it will come, that bright, sonorous time,
a time solemn and pure, a time for hymns,
and it will come, that time. Indeed, it will!

Friday, August 1st

Nas, “Daughters,” 2012


My sons, now in their twenties, I love to pieces. But loving my guys doesn’t keep me from wishing I had a daughter, too.

**********

lagniappe

reading table

The funeral director opened the coffin
And there he was alone
From the waist up

I peered down into his face
And for a moment I was taken aback
Because it was not Gabriel

It was just some poor kid
Whose face looked like a room
That had been vacated.

—Edward Hirsch (1950-), opening lines of “Gabriel,” a forthcoming book-length elegy for his son, who died in 2011 at the age of 22 (quoted in Alec Wilkinson, “Finding the Words,” New Yorker, 8/4/14)

Wednesday, July 30th

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.

Friday, July 25th

summer in the city

St. Vincent, live, Chicago (Pitchfork Music Festival), 7/19/14*

 

**********

lagniappe

reading table

the scrawny pine, too
looks extravagant . . .
summer moon

—Kobayashi Issa (1763-1827; translated from Japanese by David G. Lanoue)

*****

*Set list (courtesy of YouTube):

0:00 Introduction
0:45 Rattlesnake
5:39 Digital Witness
9:13 Cruel
13:10 Marrow
17:40 Every Tear Disappears / Shout (Tears for Fears)
22:16 Surgeon
27:35 Cheerleader
31:19 Prince Johnny
37:15 Birth In Reverse
41:10 Huey Newton
46:47 Bring Me Your Loves
50:52 Your Lips Are Red

Sunday, July 20th

testify

Neal Roberson, “Don’t Let the Devil Ride,” live


**********

lagniappe

reading table

I am running out of life, Olga thinks. What am I going to do? What is there without life?

—Aleksandar Hemon, The Lazarus Project

Thursday, July 10th

alone

Franz Schubert (1797-1828), Piano Sonata No. 20 in A major (2nd movt., Andantino), Paul Lewis (1972-), live, Boston, 2013


**********

lagniappe

reading table

During Wind and Rain
by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

They sing their dearest songs—
He, she, all of them—yea,
Treble and tenor and bass,
And one to play;
With the candles mooning each face. . . .
Ah, no; the years O!
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!

They clear the creeping moss—
Elders and juniors—aye,
Making the pathways neat
And the garden gay;
And they build a shady seat. . . .
Ah, no; the years, the years;
See the white storm-birds wing across!

They are blithely breakfasting all—
Men and maidens—yea,
Under the summer tree,
With a glimpse of the bay,
While pet fowl come to the knee. . . .
Ah, no; the years O!
And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.

They change to a high new house,
He, she, all of them—aye,
Clocks and carpets and chairs
On the lawn all day,
And brightest things that are theirs. . . .
Ah, no; the years, the years;
Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.

Thursday, June 19th

passings

Jimmy Scott, singer, July 17, 1925-June 12, 2014

“Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child,” live, New York (Birdland), 2000

**********

lagniappe

reading table

If you were to open up Iona’s chest and pour all the grief out of it, you would probably flood the entire planet, yet it is not visible.

—Anton Chekhov (1860-1904), “Grief” (often rendered as “Misery”; translated from Russian by Rosamund Bartlett)