If you have as your holy grail something out of sight, out of reach, out of time, there's no choice but to recreate it as best you can with the resources at your disposal. A conceptual remaking might give more satisfying ends than would a rote reproduction, obligatorily sticking with the canon. Rather, delve into the process and relish any "inaccuracies" as they open the door to something mystically rich and endlessly instructive.
guitar sounds for fun relaxation laughs loves
Though I haven't swum the Facebook waters for a good year now, I do appreciate its continuing pivotal position in information exchange; when I make the feed, as it were, my avatar goes places my analogbody can't, won't, or doesn't/hasn't. And when in esteemed company, all the better. Thanks, Mr. Schroeder.
Last night we heard the trio of Dave Rempis, Darren Johnston, and Larry Ochs at The Mothlight in West Asheville, North Carolina. Dave and Larry are pivotal figures in my musical development, and more accurately, personal development, for which I'm very grateful. Darren, who I met for the first time last night, is a perfect playing partner for them, and a cool person to chat with. Over the course of the evening, they displayed the fluidity and full-bodied passion that makes improvised music so resonant to my soul. My history with them as friends and musical explorers deepens my experience of where they are now. I confessed to Larry afterwards that his two unaccompanied solos each brought me to tears, to which he replied, "I played two solos?"
Sometime in the 90s here in Athens, the band Squat was gathering steam and all that comes with buzz. One of the visual hallmarks of the band was bassist Carl Lindberg's wildman hair and untamed beard; he went there so others didn't have to. A particular show at the High Hat found the group playing at full strength, with their groove jazz moving the audience. Carl was wearing a full face mask, but everyone knew it was him. After the mood was established, Carl pulled off his concealment as the audience stopped in their tracks at the sight of the buzz cut and clean-shaven cheeks before them. The mood shifted palpably. My memory recalls a wash of disappointment fell over the room, and I saw in Carl's demeanor he felt it, too. Where each successive Squat gig felt like a meteoric rise to something grander, this was a quick snip of wings to fly. We want our idols ascendant beings, not "me" in mirror form. The next few Squat gigs I saw had fewer in attendance (and perhaps this whole retelling is entirely a misinterpretation?), but (humbled)(real or imagined) they kept at it and with it. It's okay: a much broader life awaited Carl than one of playing gigs and receiving adulation for a narrow sliver of his talents, though he did in his life perform countless times, to genuine enthusiasm and appreciation. But so much more was to come, as thousands will attest. He was always kind to me, and offered this possibility more than anything else: roundedness as a path. Be at peace.
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