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September 8, 2008

IMPROVISED MUSIC AT HOMEWOOD STUDIOS

Slide into fall on the sounds of these courageous musicians who are willing to invent new music every time they assume their instruments.

Milo Fine: drum set, Scott Newell: tenor sax, voice, Charles Gilette: guitar Stefan Kac: tuba

Music begins at 7p. $5 admission to defray the musician's drumstick, reed, reostat and brass polish expenses.

7:15 When Archimedes of Syracuse, famous for his work with levers, said, "Give me a place to stand on, and I will move the Earth" he was, no doubt, listening to the noisy engines inside the earth revolving in their oily finery, glistening, scintillating, as they pried heat toward the surface.


7:20 Lament for the larger fishes. Those swimming their lives below the reach of the sun. Those blinded by brightness. When curiosity lures them to the surface. The screech of air on wet skin. The slap of waves. The sooth of sinking again under the surface, away from air, toward the welcoming dark, toward the known darkness.


7:34 What did you day? I could not hear because I was standing on my head and my feet had not yet grown ears. So, what did you say? I imagine it was, well, not important, but, well, necessary. Yes, necessary. It slowed the drumbeat of my heart even though I did not parse the words. Or I did hear, but the sounds went straight to my heart. Bypassed my brain altogether.


7:40 [interlude. milo speaking about this work]


7:51 Inch worm walks its hind several legs forward. Before she moves her front several legs, for a moment she appears, if viewed from the side, like Ω, the Greek letter omega. She sends out signals, ~ via vibrating reeds, drum heads & cymbals, guitar strings and brass tubing ~ telling us we carry our ending with us. Always, and have since first drawing breath, since first beginning to vibrate as light poured over us washing our womb life and birth canal memories from us. Here each of us dangles, inch worm tells us, suspended for a while between nothing and nothing ~ for a moment vibrating ourselves, making the only music we can, our own sound. Each of us necessary as the inch worm. But not more so.

8:06 Bend down to the ground to plant an echo. What will grow? What will grow right away? and what will sprout some unexpected moment in the future? A seed has to expire before it can send up a new plant. Some kinds of music require expiration. Breathing out.


8:18 You could shake sound from your waving hand if you were a rattle. You could pick up pennies on the ground if your drumsticks were hands. You could tie up a gift for a griffin if your guitar strings were ribbons. You could carry water in the bell of your tuba, if sound asked for a bucket instead of ear canals.


8:24 How tempting, when you create a sound which speaks back to you, to remain in its company. How inviting to revisit the places you have been, acing for familiar air. What a different path to turn your back on what you know, what has a name and address, in favor of a phone book with blank pages.


8:40 Our culture has given us maps for listening to music. Maps are for comfort. For certainty. At a large price. The surrender of impulse. Original experience. The unsettling WHOMP! of discovery hitting us behind the ear. A good laugh, kicking an old tin can down a brand new road.


8:49 A spider / walks / across the / sidewalk / of my / think / ing. A red / spi / der with / white spot on / her back. Think / ing / a / bout her / self. About how pon / der / ous. Her footsteps. Step / step step / step. Say so. Say she is / waiting / wait / ing for me / to / walk / across the / sidewalk / of / her / think / ing.

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