sounds of Norway
Sinikka Langeland (kantele, voice), “Eye of the Blue Whale” (S. Langeland), published 4/28/21
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lagniappe
random sights
yesterday, Oak Park, Ill.
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reading table
It is hard to believe of the world that there should be
music in it . . .—William Bronk (1918-1999, MCOTD Hall of Fame), from “The Nature of Musical Form”
alone
Joe Morris (1955-, guitar), live (Quarantine Concert presented by Experimental Sound Studio, Chicago), 5/1/20
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lagniappe
random sights
this morning, Chicago (Columbus Park)
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reading table
We live in reality without possession or occupation and the love of reality unpossessed transfigures us.
—William Bronk (1918-1999, MCOTD Hall of Fame), “Desire and Denial”
sounds of Ukraine
When you live in a country where words seem to mean less and less, what a relief it can be to listen to a language you know not at all.
Alyona Alyona, live (acoustic session), Slovakia (Pohoda Festival), 2019
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lagniappe
random sights
yesterday, Oak Park, Ill.
Soundtrack for a man in a box trying to escape.
Ab Baars (tenor saxophone), “Asor,” live, Amsterdam, 2014
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lagniappe
reading table
I thought that you were an anchor in the drift of the world;
but no: there isn’t an anchor anywhere.
There isn’t an anchor in the drift of the world. Oh no.
I thought you were. Oh no. The drift of the world.—William Bronk (1918-1999, MCOTD Hall of Fame), “The World”
MCOTD Hall of Fame
Today drummer Hamid Drake (1955-) enters the MCOTD Hall of Fame, joining saxophonists Von Freeman and Henry Threadgill; trumpeter Lester Bowie; gospel singer Dorothy Love Coates; composer Morton Feldman; poets John Berryman, William Bronk, and Wislawa Szymborska; and photographer Helen Levitt. Whatever the situation, he adds oxygen.
DKV Trio (HD, drums; Kent Kessler, bass; Ken Vandermark, baritone saxophone), live, Chicago, 2010
Today we welcome her to the ultra-exclusive MCOTD Hall of Fame, where she joins previous inductees Von Freeman, Wislawa Szymborska, William Bronk, and Lester Bowie.
Dorothy Love Coates, January 30, 1928-April 9, 2002
“The Accident” (Odessa Edwards, speaking), “Get Away Jordan,” “Getting Late in the Evening,” “You Must Be Born Again,” live, Los Angeles, 1955
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“You Must Be Born Again,” “He’s Right On Time” TV show (TV Gospel Time), early 1960s
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“Won’t Let Go” (AKA “I’m Just Holding On”)
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“Strange Man”
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lagniappe
reading table: two takes
The old pond— a frog jumps in, sound of water.
—Matsuo Basho (1644-1694, translated from Japanese by Robert Hass)
New pond. No sound of a frog jumping in.
—Ryokan (1758-1831, translated from Japanese by Kazuaki Tanahashi)
Music, for some people, is no less vital than oxygen.
James Rhodes, talking and playing (2010)
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lagniappe
reading table
To Praise the Music
by William Bronk (1918-1999)
Evening. The trees in late winter bare
against the sky. Still light, the sky.
Trees dark against it. A few leaves
on the trees. Tension in their rigid branches as if
–oh, it is all as if, but as if, yes,
as if they sang songs, as if they praised.
Oh, I envy them. I know the songs.
As if I know some other things besides.
As if; but I don’t know, not more
than to say the trees know. The trees don’t know
and neither do I. What is it keeps me from praise?
I praise. If only to say their songs,
say yes to them, to praise the songs they sing.
Envied music. I sing to praise their song.
(Want to hear Bronk, a MCOTD Hall of Famer, read this? Here.)
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art beat: more from Tuesday’s stop at the Art Institute of Chicago
Roy Lichtenstein, Mirror #3 (Six Panels) (1971)
Lester Bowie’s Brass Fantasy (LB, trumpet; Malachi Thompson, trumpet; Steve Turre, trombone; Phillip Wilson, drums, et al.), “I Only Have Eyes For You” (H. Warren & A. Dubin), 1984
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lagniappe
this just in
Lester Bowie, whose singular playing and presence have often been celebrated here,* has just been inducted, posthumously, into the ultra-exclusive MCOTD Hall of Fame, joining tenor saxophonist Von Freeman and poets Wislawa Szymborska and William Bronk.
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*Here (Art Ensemble of Chicago). Here (with Digable Planets). Here (Lester Bowie’s Brass Fantasy). Here (Art Ensemble of Chicago). Here (with Sun Ra All Stars). And here (Lester Bowie Brass & Steel Band).
two takes
“Feel Like Going Home” (C. Rich)
Charlie Rich (vocals & piano), demo, 1973
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Tom Jones with Mark Knopfler (guitar), TV performance, 1996
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lagniappe
musical thoughts
I don’t think I ever recorded anyone who was better as a singer, writer, and player than Charlie Rich. It is all so effortless, the way he moves from rock to country to blues to jazz.
—Sam Phillips (Sun Records)
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radio
Happy Birthday, Charles!
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reading table
I thought that you were an anchor in the drift of the world;
but no: there isn’t an anchor anywhere.
There isn’t an anchor in the drift of the world. Oh no.
I thought you were. Oh no. The drift of the world.
—William Bronk,* “The World” (mp3 [Hudson Falls, NY, 1978], Selected Poems [1995])
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*Bronk, who died in 1999, was recently inducted, posthumously, into the ultra-exclusive MCOTD Hall of Fame, joining tenor saxophonist Von Freeman and poet Wislawa Szymborska.
Have you heard of Brandt Brauer Frick?
—Rachael Z., the 20-something stylist who cuts my hair
The Brandt Brauer Frick Ensemble, live (rehearsal), Germany (Berlin), 2010
Vodpod videos no longer available.
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lagniappe
reading table
Teenager
Me — a teenager?
If she suddenly stood, here, now, before me,
would I need to treat her as near and dear,
although she’s strange to me, and distant?Shed a tear, kiss her brow
for the simple reason
that we share a birthdate?So many dissimilarities between us
that only the bones are likely still the same,
the cranial vault, the eye sockets.Since her eyes seem a little larger,
her eyelashes are longer, she’s taller
and the whole body is closely sheathed
in smooth, unblemished skin.Relatives and friends still link us, it is true,
but in her world almost all are living,
while in mine almost no one survives
from that shared circle.We differ so profoundly,
talk and think about completely different things.
She knows next to nothing —
but with a doggedness deserving better causes.
I know much more —
but nothing for sure.She shows me poems,
written in a clear and careful script
that I haven’t used for years.I read the poems, read them.
Well, maybe that one
if it were shorter
and fixed in a couple of places.
The rest do not bode well.The conversation stumbles.
On her pathetic watch
time is still cheap and unsteady.
On mine it’s far more precious and precise.Nothing in parting, a fixed smile
and no emotion.Only when she vanishes,
leaving her scarf in her haste.A scarf of genuine wool,
in colored stripes
crocheted for her
by our mother.I’ve still got it.
—Wislawa Szymborska (trans. Clare Cavanagh & Stanisław Barańczak; Here [2010])
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five desert-island poets
