March 8, 2016
Rondo in D Major K. 485 - Mozart - Mitsuka Uchida
Ms. Uchida plays this so beautifully one could almost be convinced the piece was written for modern grand piano. Her touch is light, as though measured to the milligram. What gives the game away is the sheen, the lack of local presence in the tone. There is no hint of a fortepiano's clavicinian twang to draw us close.
String Quartet in F Major Op. 59 #1 - Beethoven - Amadeus Quartet
There are so many ideas to play out that they are continually turning sharply to the side. Finding oneself back at a prior idea is like suddenly coming upon a room one had left some time ago by another door. How did I get back here?
Prelude in C-sharp minor Op. 45 - Chopin - Alfred Cortot [on 11/4/1949]
Eyes fixed dead ahead, inexorable in a focused, lyrical way.
Symphony in D minor (#4) Op. 120 - Schumann - Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique, John Eliot Gardiner
A set of modest-sized orchestra pieces, thematically linked, masquerading as a symphony. This is one of those pieces that really shouldn't work as well as it so fabulously does. JEG and crew give a spirited performance.
In Session at the Tintinabulary
March 7, 2016
Banned Telepath 45 Seattle 160307
Banned Telepath 45 Somerville 160307
Banned Rehearsal 906 160307 - Karen Eisenbrey, Keith Eisenbrey, Steve Kennedy, and Neal Kosály-Meyer, in Seattle; and Aaron Keyt, in Somerville
March 10, 2016
|Stadium Theater, Jerseyville, IL|
Unfortunately there were technical difficulties with the guitar tracks, so we'll need to do those over.
Jerseyville Illinois - demo - Your Mother Should Know, Neal Kosály-Meyer, guitar and vocals
As I was starting to break down the recording equipment Neal informs us that he has a new song. I hastily put everything back and end up with a splendid acoustic demo, celebrating the very nearly random city of Jerseyville, Illinois.
An Exchange - Part the Last
Several months ago Neal and I exchanged emails about Cage. The previous installment can be found in my post of November 7, 2015. Here I choose to bring it to a close. The part of the Bard is played by me, Neal is the Wizard.
What if . . .
The variety we perceive is real?
And more, that such coherence as we find is entirely of our own construction?
God creates, consciousness invents what God has always been creating.
The bard awaits the wizard’s response.
Wizard, after long distraction, after having re-read that whole thread, attempts response.
What if . . .
The variety we perceive is real? If the variety we perceive is real, then our organs of perception must be instruments suited to their tasks. Must admit, not certain about the origins of this what if, as I don't recall ever stating that variety is an illusion, nor do I think Cage ever said or implied anything like that. Returning to the "child who says I love you" exchange above, what is real is that as subjects we alternate between separateness and union with our world and also with its separable components. To thicken the plot, we probably tend to get stuck in one or the other swing of that pendulum. The General Neurosis might be described as human beings getting stuck in separateness. Perhaps the mystic ideal of eschewing separateness and achieving some permanent unitive state is equally neurotic. Feels to me that letting the pendulum swing, and remembering the other end of the swing even when we're at the opposite pole--that would be optimal.
And more, that such coherence as we find is entirely of our own construction? Presumably "our" means "human beings' "? That presumes a fundamental separation between us and everything else that I don't accept, or rather, again, that constitutes the General Neurosis, that thing out of which I would like to find a way. To accept this "what if " would seem to entail seeing that separation as normal (i.e. NOT pathological, i.e., NOT the General Neurosis). So it's a very hard "what if" for me to accept, and very hard for me to see a way that I could accept it without enormous sadness and resignation. It feels less like accepting the situation as normal, and more like accepting that there is no way out of a terrible cage.
God creates, consciousness invents what God has always been creating. Curious as to how you would define the distinction between creation and invention here. Feels to me like your formulation would imply that God and consciousness are one and the same. I am trying of late to figure out what a non-hierarchical theology would be--an anarchical theology. The notion of consciousness as something that is not the exclusive privilege of humans feels like a crucial part of that figuring. So--accepting that our consciousness feels mostly like a different thing than that experienced by the non-human beings, what if that feeling is simply a pole of the pendulum's swing, and that on the other pole that differentness dissolves, though re-differentiating once more on the next swing. Is consciousness the same thing as creating--primal creating--as listening is primal composition? The doors of perception seem hereby to be transmuted into the doors of invention: is this the cleansing Blake foretold, allowing us to see all things as they are, infinite?
The bard awaits the wizard’s response.