Scarborough, Maine, August 2024
Two more essais (organic songs?) are up in two weeks, using the same lyrics. As always, thank you for your spontaneity and thoughtful spirit.
The disorientation
of looking down
at the flat ground.
Removing the horizon,
we notice something beautiful
and framed.
A rock on the right side,
ice on the left,
it’s a scene with an
actual background.
We people like it here,
in this mental space.
With no horizon,
no potential.
This recording actually comes from the discard folder. I wanted to get started with “essais,” or attempts, but when I went back to find something I had in mind, I found this better. I understand why I’d remembered the other: it has clearer dynamics, deft(er) movement between phrases, ties together more rationally. In my notes, I’d written that the words had a strong narrative pull. I didn’t feel that tonight.
Maybe I’m just tender today, but what appeals to me is the softness of the lyrics and the frail run in the singing at the end. I sang:
I slipped it
Like a note in your pocket
I gripped it
Under my sweatAnd I meant it
And I meant it
And I m-ea-nt it
Until I bent
I’m not ready to lay out my goals for these improvisations, but I will when I’m feeling more analytical. I’ll simply say that I’m contending with having many phrases, rhythms, hand-movements—in other words, sonic meanings—at my disposal, but fewer words to make emerge. The singing feels the most tenuous and even sometimes dull. Words are so bound to communicative meaning and more difficult to make fit.
