The joyful noise that scrapes away
the accretions of malaise
that reliably accompany any life lived without privilege
is a pitcher of aural nectar,
poured directly to the soul,
which, like oil to an engine,
needs the sweet sounds of pain and joy and remorse and hope
to function properly.
You claim you cannot hear what the artist is trying to say.
Locate your soul, Louis and Duke and Monk remind,
and your ears will grow,
like peppers in the sun and rain.
Hope RekindledThis past week has given us more hope for our diseased republic than any other time in 50+ years of paying attention. Observing and participating in a long-overdue peaceful uprising, occupying the streets, feeling the righteous energy of people of all ages, colors, faiths, and wealth (or lack thereof), has…
Used traditionally, in most Western music the bass keeps time churning out fat quarter-notes based on the root of a chord. Ba-dum-dum-dum-dum. On his addictive new recording Tines of Change, the visionary master bassist and composer explores his instrument’s under-utilized sonic possibilities. The concatenation of squeaks, grumbles, twitters, growls, whistles, knocks, cries, howls, and, yes, nice...
