Monthly Archives: August 2013

A Love Supreme

songs i can play pretty well, songs i can play pretty terribly, and everything in between:

“Au Privave,” Charlie Parker
“Autumn Leaves”
“Blue Suede Shoes,” Carl Perkins
“Boogie Oogie Oogie,” A Taste of Honey
“The Chain,” Fleetwood Mac
“Desert in E Minor,” brendan & ronny
“Get Lucky,” Daft Punk
“Gloria,” Patti Smith
“I Want You,” The Troggs
“Isis,” Bob Dylan
“Jitterbug Punk,” rich & ronny
“Jitterbug Waltz,” Fats Waller
“Lateralus,” Tool
“A Love Supreme,” John Coltrane
“Root Down,” Jimmy Smith
“Stand By Me,”
“Toro”, ronny
“Twist and Shout”
“Whiplash,” The Shells
“Wing,” Patti Smith

seventeen songs. before the start of the year, i probably knew five… and all terribly.

yes, i am loving my bass and my bass lessons and my bass teacher’s recommendation to watch a video featuring Bootsy Collins. i love my bass and i love jazz and i love Ella and i love Billie. i love the way Rich just jumps on the drums, i love how Natalie lives in perfect patience, i love how Lucas plays guitar from the minute you enter to the minute you exit, i love how Andrew and Mark and Sean all spin different dance tunes though dance tunes they certainly are, i love how Dorothy summons demons through her long tall throat, i love, i love, i love.

i love a girl. i love “Sea Surface Full of Clouds.”


In that November off Tehuantepec,
The slopping of the sea grew still one night
And in the morning summer hued the deck

And made one think of rosy chocolate
And gilt umbrellas. Paradisal green
Gave suavity to the perplexed machine

Of ocean, which like limpid water lay.
Who, then, in that ambrosial latitude
Out of the light evolved the morning blooms,

Who, then, evolved the sea-blooms from the clouds
Diffusing balm in that Pacific calm?
C’était mon enfant, mon bijou, mon âme.

The sea-clouds whitened far below the calm
And moved, as blooms move, in the swimming green
And in its watery radiance, while the hue

Of heaven in an antique reflection rolled
Round those flotillas. And sometimes the sea
Poured brilliant iris on the glistening blue.


In that November off Tehuantepec
The slopping of the sea grew still one night.
At breakfast jelly yellow streaked the deck

And made one think of chop-house chocolate
And sham umbrellas. And a sham-like green
Capped summer-seeming on the tense machine

Of ocean, which in sinister flatness lay.
Who, then, beheld the rising of the clouds
That strode submerged in that malevolent sheen,

Who saw the mortal massives of the blooms
Of water moving on the water-floor?
C’était mon frère du ciel, ma vie, mon or.

The gongs rang loudly as the windy booms
Hoo-hooed it in the darkened ocean-blooms.
The gongs grew still. And then blue heaven spread

Its crystalline pendentives on the sea
And the macabre of the water-glooms
In an enormous undulation fled.


In that November off Tehuantepec,
The slopping of the sea grew still one night
And a pale silver patterned on the deck

And made one think of porcelain chocolate
And pied umbrellas. An uncertain green,
Piano-polished, held the tranced machine

Of ocean, as a prelude holds and holds,
Who, seeing silver petals of white blooms
Unfolding in the water, feeling sure

Of the milk within the saltiest spurge, heard, then,
The sea unfolding in the sunken clouds?
Oh! C’était mon extase et mon amour.

So deeply sunken were they that the shrouds,
The shrouding shadows, made the petals black
Until the rolling heaven made them blue,

A blue beyond the rainy hyacinth,
And smiting the crevasses of the leaves
Deluged the ocean with a sapphire blue.


In that November off Tehuantepec
The night-long slopping of the sea grew still.
A mallow morning dozed upon the deck

And made one think of musky chocolate
And frail umbrellas. A too-fluent green
Suggested malice in the dry machine

Of ocean, pondering dank stratagem.
Who then beheld the figures of the clouds
Like blooms secluded in the thick marine?

Like blooms? Like damasks that were shaken off
From the loosed girdles in the spangling must.
C’était ma foi, la nonchalance divine.

The nakedness would rise and suddenly turn
Salt masks of beard and mouths of bellowing,
Would—But more suddenly the heaven rolled

Its bluest sea-clouds in the thinking green,
And the nakedness became the broadest blooms,
Mile-mallows that a mallow sun cajoled.


In that November off Tehuantepec
Night stilled the slopping of the sea.
The day came, bowing and voluble, upon the deck,

Good clown… One thought of Chinese chocolate
And large umbrellas. And a motley green
Followed the drift of the obese machine

Of ocean, perfected in indolence.
What pistache one, ingenious and droll,
Beheld the sovereign clouds as jugglery

And the sea as turquoise-turbaned Sambo, neat
At tossing saucers—cloudy-conjuring sea?
C’était mon esprit bâtard, l’ignominie.

The sovereign clouds came clustering. The conch
Of loyal conjuration trumped. The wind
Of green blooms turning crisped the motley hue

To clearing opalescence. Then the sea
And heaven rolled as one and from the two
Came fresh transfigurings of freshest blue.

i’m… down w Wallace Stevens, though i can’t say i love him.

oh jesus, but Nile Rodgers. i can definitely say i love him. i saw him and his band, Chic, perform at Outside Lands on the very same stage in the very same meadow where i’d seen Beck, M. Ward, and Devendra Banhart play in 2009. Nile killed by a mile. and that’s saying quite a bit since i loved all three of those shows in 2009. like, really really loved. but what can top…


this man’s guitar.

holy shit from the very first second to the very last, this was a performance. first of all, the man just walks out on stage to make sure his guitar and monitors sound right and everything. just casually walks up, dressed in pure snow white w black dreads hanging low, and starts working. the band joins him, and they start playing some ambient funk noise. this eventually descends into a deep crashing tremor, as the two female vocalists walk out to join the rest of the band. then the party starts.

they play Chic, they play Diana Ross, they play David Bowie, they play Sister Sledge, they play Sugarhill Gang, they play Chic. and then, when they’re all done, they put down their instruments and lead everyone into a “Get Lucky” dance party. album version.

be still, my lucky heart. Continue reading

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