up in harvard. here at the coop. loud conversation at the next table. watch me make a dramatic generalization: yet another indian professional berating yet another american professional with dramatic generalizations about 'in india there is...' and 'in america you find...' and managing to essentialize a billion and a half motherfucking people in a single stroke! the sheer brazen nonspecificity of it. well what can you do. it's not MY conversation. there's something going on that's out of your control.
turn off the screen light and sit back. look to the ceiling. headphones in to block out every other human being. you're alone with your writing now. in the dark and quiet. people like to generalize and to know. they love to bounce from one tiny thing to the grand scheme. to believe that knowledge will save them. violins swell on the headphones. mehldau and redman. i don't want to be caught up in arguments. making my stomach hurt. just ate some ravioli. beautiful saxophone solo here. strings now. rich polyphony behind redman despite the narrowness of the instrumental channel - i mean only strings, a little horn, but such sounds! i think this is one of the tracks mehldau scored for individual instruments rather than sections.
redman is fleet and fluent in the lead voice. against the deliberate melancholy in the strings. an atmospheric effect, not just a musical one. mehldau provides simple but empathetic piano accompaniment. beautiful restraint.
man, but i still wanna punch this fucker at the next table!! not just the register of his voice, which is hard enough to banish from my ...
fuck it, i'm out of here.
