two takes
“Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen”
Bessie Griffin (with Charles Barnett, piano), live, Switzerland (Montreux Jazz Festival), 1981
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Albert Ayler (AA, saxophone; Call Cobbs, piano; Henry Grimes, bass; Sunny Murray, drums), recording, 1964
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lagniappe
reading table
To live is to lose ground.
—E. M. Cioran (1911-1995; translated from French by Richard Howard)
Today, our fourth birthday, we revisit our first post.
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One left Cuba after the revolution, the other stayed. Here they play together: pianists—father and son—Bebo and Chucho Valdes.
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taking a break
I’m taking some time off—back soon.
this morning
I seem to be falling in love with someone who’s been dead twenty years.
Molly Drake, 1916-1993 (mother of singer-songwriter Nick Drake, 1948-1974)
“I Remember”
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“The First Day”
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“How Wild The Wind Blows”
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lagniappe
found words
Yesterday, walking in the garden at Chicago’s Millenium Park, I came upon a small sign, close to the dirt, that read:
THIS AREA
IS IN
TRANSITION.WE APPRECIATE
YOUR
UNDERSTANDING.CHECK BACK
SOON.
nothing much happening
Phill Niblock, “Pan Fried 70” (Touch Food, 2003)
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lagniappe
random thoughts
If they’re both immeasurable, is a lifetime any greater than a moment?
alone
If you’re in the mood for his music, as I often am, nothing else will do.
Morton Feldman (1926-1987), Triadic Memories (1981); Louis Goldstein, piano
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lagniappe
reading table
In the summer rain
the path
has disappeared.—Yosa Buson (1716-1783; translated from Japanese by Robert Hass)
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musical thoughts
What would it be like to live in a world without sound?
alone
Earl Hines (1903-1983; piano), “I Ain’t Got Nobody,” 1928
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lagniappe
reading table
“At Lake Haptacong” (excerpt)
By David Ferry (1924-)The trees look thinly leaved, as if it were
Late autumn, early spring, or winter in a place
Where dead leaves cling to trees all winter long.You cannot tell what weather or season it is.
My mother, as in all those early pictures,
Although in this one already having lostHer girlish slimness, looks sexually alive,
Full of energy, her hair dark, abundant,
Her smile generous (though maybe less so thanIn the pictures taken a few years earlier).
Somewhere in this picture there is inscribed
The source or secret, somewhere inscribed the cause,Of the anxious motherly torment of disapproval,
The torment not resisted by my father,
Visited by my mother on my sister,The baby in the picture, torment that was
Perhaps in turn the cause of the alcoholism
That, many years later, the baby in the pictureWon out over. But it’s all unreadable
In this charming family photograph which, somehow,
Perhaps because of the blankness of the sky,Looks Russian, foreign, of no country I know.
alone
Soundtrack to a dream I wish I’d had last night.
Tristan Murail (1947-), “Comme un oeil suspendu et poli par le songe . . .”; Mireia Vendrell, piano, live
alone
John Cage (1912-1992), Sonatas and Interludes for Prepared Piano (1946-1948); Louis Goldstein, piano, live, Winston-Salem, N.C. (Reynolda House Museum of American Art), 1982
What I love about this performance is its directness. He doesn’t treat these pieces as arty exotica. He plays them as simply and naturally, as musically, as one might play Bach, or Mozart, or Chopin.
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lagniappe
musical thoughts
I remember loving sound before I ever took a music lesson. And so we make our lives by what we love.
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A sound does not view itself as thought, as ought, as needing another sound for its elucidation, as etc.; it has not time for any consideration–it is occupied with the performance of its characteristics: before it has died away it must have made perfectly exact its frequency, its loudness, its length, its overtone structure, the precise morphology of these and of itself.
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They say, “you mean it’s just sounds?” thinking that for something to just be a sound is to be useless, whereas I love sounds just as they are, and I have no need for them to be anything more than what they are. I don’t want them to be psychological. I don’t want a sound to pretend that it’s a bucket or that it’s president or that it’s in love with another sound. I just want it to be a sound.
alone
Ran Blake (1935-), “Over the Rainbow” (H. Arlen & E. Harburg), live, Portugal (Lisbon), 2010
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lagniappe
reading table
Even in Kyoto—
hearing the cuckoo’s cry—
I long for Kyoto.—Matsuo Basho (1644-1694; translated from Japanese by Robert Hass)
making a joyful noise
Evangelist Rosie Haynes (alto saxophone, vocals), “Because He Lives,” live, Milwaukee, 2005
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taking a break
I’m taking some time off—back in a while.
music clip of the day 