Homewood Studios Events Archive
September 14, 2009
IMPROVISED MUSIC AT HOMEWOOD STUDIOS
Improvisations on the changing of leaves. Milo fine: drum set (bowed cymbals), B Flat clarinet, alto clarinet, Scott Newell: tenor sax, voice, Steve Gnitka: guitar, Stefan Kac: tuba.
Instruments tuned and poised at 6:59. Everything begins at 7p. $5 admission fee to encourage each of us to reflect on the phrase "Worth the price of admission."
set a tone for the evening. send a balloon of sound into orbit. call it a tourist destination. questions immediately. who could afford? how much dramamine? are sleep & dream still possible? and can the sound exist where there is no air? perhaps black matter will provide the necessary.
reentry. seed pods from maple trees fluttering down in september. tailspin. flighttumble. no problem. everything in order. please do not unfasten your seat harness until we have come to a full.
back on terra firma. the birds. just as when charlie mingus.
next load of tourists. jostling for the best. everyday here-we-go excitement builds. becomes a skyscraper of anticipation. the steward on the transport ship neglected to shave. the moon. the steward's true nature reveals itself in his eyes.
the oxen in my story can turn on a dime if properly coached. you have to curry them for an hour. look them in the eye. rub their favorite spots. then they will work all day for you. even on the moon. if, however, you beat them with a stick. well, how would you feel?
mind wanders. brought back by. rattling around inside the. new ears opening, like doors, on new rooms of sound. a book of poems called the next room of the dream.
grass whispers. night wraps around its green. insects under ground, unaccustomed to light, stir. scurrying the operative. each as intent on their work as i am writing this. depends upon where you place the microphone. how you tune the recorder. how many tickets? how many chairs. is there enough room? of course!
stand at the edge. test the springiness, the flex. envision what comes next. so something else. jump. and stay up.
none of us is what we seem. the parts less than the. what remains after inventory makes the music we hear with the ear that beats inside our chest. something is turning my thoughts sappy. laconic guitar chords? clarinet-sax duet? or just my normal sappy parts?
"i think you must be about to leave." your foot lifts off the floor as if. you have plans to be elsewhere. something detains you. you put your foot back on the floor. you miss your train. you are glad.
take your glasses off. the better to see the sculpture of sound growing before you, around you, behind you, above you.
the u.f.o. research group prepares soup for the visitors. secret ingredients. secret meeting place. read all about it in the magazine.
going. going down. going down stairs. going down big stairs. twelve inch risers. heave steps. think-soled boots. something behind. something hungry. the dark gets louder. more going down. going down stairs. big stairs. dark stairs. hungry stairs. wishing not. wishing somewhere else. wishing why didn't i?
insects again. running. with all their feet. as the package of cookies says, "tear along dotted line."
then everything slows down. gravity. yawn. think back to. once there was a hammock. i lay there, one leg and foot dangling. pushing the ground every do often to keep movement. the dusk sky ringing like a string of tiny bells. lazy. nowhere else to be. don't want to. let the molecules puddle. inertia. until a cloud passes over the moon. the earth turns. the hammock sways on its own. the spin of the planet ratchets up a notch. tuck my foot back inside the canvas boat. hold on.
whenever we find. whatever we look. always the inevitable. something else.
my my my. why the sky. my sky. why so nigh. nothing too dry. cymbals cry. my my my. why do i. when doves. sigh.
what do they hear? those walking by? outside. those driving by? farther outside.
"how was your trip?"
"did you go where you thought you were going?"
"did the ferry get you there all right?"
"do you remember where 'there' is?"
"is it possible you went some place where else?"
"how would you know?"
were it not for language, this might be static. instead, it could be rain on a tin drum. or wind breaking small twigs. sheets of ice blowing onto shore and breaking up. in other words. could be poetry.
a word. a note. either can set imagination spinning. does, in fact. can't stop it. the brain has evolved to pay attention. try to ignore it. at your peril. the news in that word, in that note. what people die for lack of every day. what miles looked for every time he. why nikki de st. phail built her tarot garden - especially the mirrored man - in italy. what galway kinnell asks when he writes a question at the end of his poem.
george gershwin drops in for a moment. smiles at what he. takes out a pencil. holds it to his lip. thinks.
the river slows where it bends its name. the wind walks instead of running. starlight crosses a bridge like someone thinking about tomorrow.
when the tick tock goes flip flop. when the what's up goes full cup. when the tip toe goes ice floe. when the hiccup trough goes window cough. when the hearing aid goes dead.
one stops. three left. another stops. two left. tuba and sax talking. slowing down. then one. then not.