Reading

Finished Faulkner's The Reivers last night. Slow going at first, followed by quite a bit of action in the latter middle - closing out with a foot dragging summation...

Still - it was interesting the way Faulkner wrote it so that the narrator was relating the events directly to me, addressing me as "you" and whatnot.

Quickly moved on to Life of Pi, which was a gift from Willi. Gonna try to finish this one out early. I have a bad habit of letting my books stagnate on the nightstand lately. After the first few chapters I'm thinking it's gonna be a page turner. The autobio of the author at the beginning of the book has already drawn me in - noting the similarities of our shared shame in post-graduate dalliance - then offering that little flint of hope that the creative fires are not yet quashed.

Since watching Lost in Translation -- I've been feeling the push for creation. It'd been a while that a movie ripped so much out of me - leaving me feeling hollow at it's end. I'll tell you the same thing I've been saying about it to anybody who lends an ear. I thought it something of a modified Harold and Maude - and as I'll repeat - one that left me so empty inside at its end that I felt the need to bust out pen and pad and start scratching. After sharing this succint summation with a customer the other night - he replied,

"I thought the movie did nothing. I mean nothing. I did like it whenever he (Bill Murray) was on the screen, but it really didn't seem to do anything."

This made me a lil uncomfortable about having recommended Baraka to him - but I've been thinking about what he had to say - Doing nothing - and I've come to the conclusion that perhaps therein lies some of the charm. I sat up in bed a couple of nights ago -- I think it was a few days after the bandnight where I resurrected the alto - going so far as to purchase some new reeds at $30 for the box - just listening to what I had played. It was horrendous to me. The prominence and the audacity of that horn was a grater on my nerves. I then started waxing philosophical. I can't even remember what I was really thinking - just that I was thinking - and it came along the lines of doing nothing naturally. It then started getting into consciousness and how unnatural consciousness is and something to do with leaky fissures of something else...whatever. It was late.

The cardinal rule for all creative writing teachers is to tell their students not to be wordy. And while I love inserting an obnoxiously precocious into my work - I suddenly could see that the same rule should be applied to the music. Thus - this past band night I tried to slip into the background - and just lay down some thick, long notes. I lacked the composure to continue this effort, however, when things started to unravel early in the evening.

There is nothing wrong with a slowly building inebriation - one that warms the conversation and cozies the creation - that type of activity usually carves out beautifully sculpted enthusiasm by the end of the evening - in perfect time. But when a stupor is brought on before the creative process has even begun - one which causes someone to insult and berate the creative efforts of others (here not just music, but lyrics or any creation) - all can be lost. All effort to remain focused - locked on to your aims of a natural process in your sound, tone, creation - is lost to distraction and humiliation.

Such was the case Tuesday night - and in all likelihood it looks like a break, a rest, breathing room will manifest next Tuesday. I'll probably spend it burning through some Pi - and leave zen music for a week.

That turned into a rant somewhere. Blog therapy.