I have been listening to John Coltrane. More particularly, I have been watching a studio performance by his Quintet from 1961, of his interpretation of the song, “My Favorite Things”, written by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein a couple of years earlier. There is much to admire in this old black and white archive recording, including a delightful piano solo by McCoy Tyner, who died last month, and some under-stated yet compelling percussion by Elvin Jones. Then there is Coltrane himself, the great saxophonist, finding ample scope for virtuosic improvisation within the formal structure of the verses, drawing out many shades of colour and contrast around the melodic line that – seemingly – he alone knew might be hiding there. Listening to him play is better than eating schnitzel with noodles.
Continue reading “Arodnap”Memento Mori
I am usually in bed well before midnight on New Year’s Eve and I do not usually adopt New Year’s resolutions. It isn’t that object to resolutions, per se, but it isn’t the way my mind works. I am very much a planner and a goal setter. I like having objectives to work towards. I like knowing where I am headed. But the idea of a handful of resolutions to improve myself over the next 12 months doesn’t generally fit with the time horizon over which I set goals.
Continue reading “Memento Mori”Christmas gifts
Well it’s that time of year, dear readers – the tree is set up and hung with sparkling lights; the windows have little battery-powered candles which dispel the gloom of long Maine nights with their flickering orange glow; the stove is merrily churning out wood-stoked carbon-heavy warmth; and I’m starting to fret about whether I’ve actually checked off everyone on my Christmas gift list.
Continue reading “Christmas gifts”Beckettmas
When I was a small child, history taught at school comprised a series of stories, each one recounting the great deeds of some famous man or, occasionally, famous woman. I imagine that each country has its own selection of national heroes and heroines, exemplars for the young, whose exploits are re-told to each generation of children: Robin Hood in England, Joan d’Arc in France, William Tell in Switzerland, and Paul Revere in New England. And, if you live in Argentina, I guess it will now be Diego Maradona.
Continue reading “Beckettmas”Baselines
I think I’ve mentioned here before that my son was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder some time ago, back when he was three. I’ve always been ambivalent about the diagnosis; his mother had him evaluated roughly six months after we split up, when she was probably at her worst point post-break-up, and her own depression was, to say the least, making it difficult for her as a mother. Our son was weathering that, and weathering the loss of my regular presence – I was getting back to Seattle for a week a month, roughly, while figuring out what to do about my London existence and experience what I can only describe as a tectonic reflection as I experienced life after the marriage – and his emotional state was fraught to say the least. I’m not sure the diagnosis was correct at all; even the write up made it sound like the evaluator was talking to just a confused, depressed, and inarticulate three-year old trying to right himself while his parents both were spinning out of orbit.
Continue reading “Baselines”