Upstate.

I can't help but look at properties upstate after spending an exquisite few days there, with the best of friends, cooking dinners for one another, the company of a sweet pooch, and a pool in which to laze about on sunny afternoons.  Late night card games; coffee in the morning, sitting in wooden rocking chairs on the open-air porch; lightning bugs illuminating their presence in the midnight fog.  Farmer's market bliss, earning the delicate taste of once-a-year squash blossoms, and wild, black raspberries.

Here we go, Day 327: https://ia800308.us.archive.org/33/items/Improv7512_197/20120706181358.mp3

Good in bad.

The country helps me remember all those sounds of nature that go missing in the concrete jungle of New York City.  Those sounds that make me remember that my environment is living, and impacts me profoundly.  It's often not until you juxtapose your "city self" against your "non-city self" that you realize how difficult it is to stay focused on one task in NYC.  At least that's how I feel.  There's a constant whirring in the body... even when you're at rest, you're buzzing. 

Anyway, the shimmering rustle of the leaves was a welcome appetizer for the July 4th holiday.

Now, back in the city, I'm buckling down for a week of hard work before three weeks of even harder work.

The piano in the country house was severely out of tune, you will hear on days 325 and 326.  But I expected it, and tried to use it to my advantage.  I think it turned out pretty well.  Certainly some of the effects of Day 325 would not have worked on a better instrument.

Here we go, Day 324: https://ia600705.us.archive.org/30/items/Improv7312/20120703095931.mp3
and Day 325: https://ia800300.us.archive.org/28/items/Improv7412/20120704135345.mp3
and Day 326: https://ia601407.us.archive.org/9/items/Improv7512/20120705114115.mp3

Ambient sound.

I was speaking yesterday with someone who works a bit with sound engineering, mixing, and so forth.  It made me think about the elements of recordings that I notice and don't.  And how important it has become to have a "clean" record.  I get it... it's like a neatly typed up paper or story.  You don't want to send something to the presses that has smudges or errors.

But...

... in listening to Art Tatum on my 1931 Victrola a few nights ago, my friends and I concluded that the sound from that gramophone was the sound of 1931.  What we heard was essentially untouched from that moment of Tatum sitting at his instrument.  The recording directly cut to the disc.  Any "mistakes" were preserved there, and yet, we don't listen to them... maybe we don't even hear them.  We hear masterwork.

Some of my favorite recordings are live, from inside a tavern, or on someone's front porch.  You hear the ambient sounds of glasses clinking, old men chuckling (you can see their large bellies bouncing up and down), maybe an "olé, olé" every now and then accompanied with a small crowd's palmas.  It's only with these recordings that you can really slip into the moment of that artist at that time.  The sounds are all descriptions of the environment, and you need nothing more to conjure the atmosphere.

You may have noticed, if you've listened to even only one of these improvs, that I don't attempt to mask the ambient noise.  First of all, there's no way that I possibly could.  Sometimes I turn off the ceiling fan so that it doesn't flick the sound of the music too much.  But other than that, in the summer you hear all the street noise, all the twang from a piano in too much humidity, my little cat whining, and the thin book of music I throw at her to get her to stop.  In the winter, you hear the pipes rattling, and a little more clarity from having the windows closed, plus the dryness in the air, which helps my particular piano settle into tune.

But secondly, I think it draws you into my space.  You're in my apartment.  You're hearing exactly what I hear, and you're hearing the moment.  Every one of the improvs has a slightly different sound quality, and you can feel what the day was by the elements of the backdrop.  In fact, listening to an improv from last August (I think it may have been Day 2,) brings me to the exact feeling I had as I recorded it, because of the density of the humid air that passed by outside, which in turn caused the sound waves to slow down slightly.  I know it's a little strange, but I think I might like all of these recordings more because of this.

Anyway, on to today's pre-park improv.

Here we go, Day 322: https://ia801407.us.archive.org/14/items/Improv7112/20120701184137.mp3

Gallery.

Something important that dawned on me tonight.  It's imperative that you believe that people enjoy your music.  Take that away, and every note becomes tentative and unsure.  Even if it's not.  Of course, being swollen with talent helps a lot, as in the case of Jason Moran, whom I saw perform tonight.  Pretty inspiring to see people play that don't revert to gimmicks and devices to make their music work.  These guys, Ralph Alessi, Moran, Drew Gress and Nasheet Waits played beautiful music.  Long lines, stillness at times, thoughtfulness, conversation... and not until the music really required it by virtue of nature did they explode into wild fortissimos.  Again, the kind of night that makes me remember why I live in this place.

Here we go, Day 321: https://ia600800.us.archive.org/31/items/Improv63012/20120630164357.mp3

Jesse's Bagatelles.

Jesse's Bagatelles.  I was utterly blown away by them.  Bravo, bravo, bravo.  I can't say it enough... it was wonderful to witness such amazing music, by incredible musicians, in an intimate environment and at the onset of greatness.  I say this with complete sincerity, and I hope that Jesse finds all the reward he deserves from his feat.  This was a moment that made me feel like I was in a moment of resounding time... the kind that people say, "I wish I could go back and be there when so and so played with this guy, in that space, blah blah..."  Without the blah blahs, though.  Anyway, I was there.  I got to see and hear it in its element.  And might I add, this is one of those important reasons why I live in New York.

Here we go, Day 320: https://ia600306.us.archive.org/34/items/Improv62912/20120629185348.mp3

Himalaya.

Beginning to buckle down for a crazy few weeks ahead.

I can't believe that I have less than two months left of this project.  The past year, swelling with experiences of all sorts, has left me dumbfounded.  I can't believe how much can fit into this time that has been so short.  And the intensity of meaning that I've discovered... so many mysteries, it seems, have made themselves known.  Or at least they've shown a bare ankle.  And my awareness of such has proven to be a source of happiness, as thinking around them has been quite an intellectual adventure.  And that journey, I've been blessed to share with a few special comrades... sherpas that didn't even know they were leading.

Here we go, Day 319: https://ia902704.us.archive.org/29/items/Improv62812/20120628202432.mp3

The absurdity of the classical ideal.

With regard to classical music:

I've been working on the Brahms F Major cello sonata over the past few weeks, and am lucky enough to have a run-through partner that doesn't mind all of my humps and bumps in preparation for the performance.  And anyway, the first run-through made my pitfalls glaringly obvious... at the time, I really hadn't learned my part properly, and there were many places to lament.  So I spent many, many moments, with metronome inching its way up to an acceptable tempo, but still feeling the dread for those tricky little spots.

Then today, I realize that those tricky spots last for such an instant in the grand scheme of things.  I've spent what will equate to several hours for perhaps literally two seconds of music.  And then when we put things together today, those two seconds were so fleeting and unimportant that it felt laughable, the amount of time I had dedicated to their fluidity.  And the clincher is that, upon this realization, I will not stop trying to perfect those two seconds.  I'm not sure where that puts me, but I do know that as silly as it seems, I will not stop my attempts at the absurd.

Here we go, Day 318: https://ia601409.us.archive.org/1/items/Improv62712/20120627184058.mp3

Pardoning me.

Before I know it, I'll be heading to Vermont for three weeks of intensity and limit-pushing.  You know that if I voluntarily wake up at 7am every day for 3 weeks, I'm invested.

And until then, struggles to find balance between innumerable obligations... realizing that failure has not even crossed my mind, let alone not being an option.

Improvisations finding themselves cared for a lot, and not at all.  How difficult it's been to invest my analysis the way I once did.  But in a way, perhaps that is what I've needed... to let go, to not have time to worry about did I do this? or how could I have done that?  Another part of the journey, I suppose.  And yet, I find that the improvs have been finding some semblance....

Here we go, Day 317: https://ia600800.us.archive.org/3/items/Improv62612/20120626211058.mp3

The way to the heart.

Tonight's menu:

Massaged kale salad with French apricots and almonds.

Steamed mussels with leeks, Roma tomatoes and white wine.  Garlic and butter, of course.  Baguette on the side.

Herbed oven fries with herb (oh yes, double those herbs) mayonnaise.

French white wine, German white wine, Argentinean white wine, and New Zealander white wine.  That's a lot of white wine.

Strawberries with fresh whipped cream.  Espresso for those that wanted it.

Cooking for a cook was not as intimidating as I thought it might be.

Here we go, Day 315: https://ia700709.us.archive.org/35/items/Improv62412/20120624181157.mp3

Lyrics.

Listening to French songs.  Getting live translation.  Could make one reflective.  What's happened to lyrics?

There are no great lyrics anymore... at least none that could stand up against the great poetry of these old masters.  I'm disappointed in the masses for allowing such mediocre music to represent our culture and our times.  It's just embarrassing.  We might as well have a cookie-cutter for every aspect of our lives, because the pop music of today is all really just the same song slightly reworked over and over for different singers.  And this mentality has pervaded so many other industries, artistic and otherwise.  Very frustrating.

Here we go, Day 313: https://ia700808.us.archive.org/4/items/Improv62212/20120622213811.mp3


Bon voyage.

New York.  The most transient place I can think of.  After living here for nearly a decade, it's apparent that it's not going to be permanent for all of your friends.  Most of them leave after two or three years.  Another bunch will take off after five.  Others, a small handful, call it quits after nine or ten.  And on and on.  Two of my friends will move to Barcelona on Sunday.  It's always hard to part ways with people you care about.  Even when you've come to expect it.

Here we go, Day 311: https://ia600300.us.archive.org/12/items/Improv62012/20120619210214.mp3

Dimensions.

I love to see marks from the past.  The way things were, and how people did things.  And who stood where.  The great things, and the small things.  And the weight that is felt from simple rituals that burn into a time place after having occurred habitually day after day.  Drinking a glass of water over the sink.  Practicing the piano in that same spot, and grunting in dismay when a mistake is made.  Hugging guests upon entry into one's home.  Pouring scoops of food into a dish for the cat.

And also that people were pretty much the same then as they are now.  And our stories are reflective of their stories.  Even though we have the internet now, and cell phones, and reality TV.  And they had books, baskets, and bonnets.

But anyway, I guess I'm a bit thoughtful about that whole space/time continuum (I honestly really don't even know what I'm talking about), and I have always felt the fourth dimension as if I could reach out and touch the past and future, if only I could see them.

Scars and mars.  Wrinkles.  Scrapes.  Evidence of how one lived life. 

Here we go, Day 309: https://ia700803.us.archive.org/23/items/Improv61812/20120618212945.mp3

Recipe.

Ceiling fan.  Tick tick tick tick tickity tickity tickity tlickety tlack tlack tlack flahflahflah flack fli flack fli flack....

You get the point.  Louder than a ticking time bomb... if you could personify its effects, though, similar results to one.  Ever maddening.  Add: 2 police sirens, and a heaping spoonful of piercing cat meows during moments of implied quietude.  A pinch of crotch rocket careening down the street at full speed.  3 teaspoons of children crying on the sidewalk.  A dash of cheer from the neighborhood bar as Germany scores a goal.  All part of the recipe that begins New York summer.

Here we go, Day 308: https://ia800308.us.archive.org/19/items/Improv61712/20120617180417.mp3