"To me living and music are all the same thing. And I keep finding out more about music as I learn more about myself, my environment, about all kinds of different things in life. I play what I live. Therefore, just as I can't predict what kinds of experiences I'm going to have, I can't predict the directions in which my music will go. I just want to write and play my instrument as I feel."
~ McCoy Tyner
Thoughts like these are why I love listening to jazz musicians talk about their work. Somehow in the articulation of notes with keys and reeds and strings and sticks, they have words down, too. And when words fail, they have scat. Sound words. Which is kind of a poetry of rhythms and glides, of hip and of hop across a tune.
Brush and I went hippity hop across some more space yesterday. And in some spots we had glide. We had short jumps and some sizzle. Look at that red. It just had to be heard. And we scooted on over to fly with some yellow before we dipped into the blue. Pencil was keeping a beat on the drums. Pen kept quiet, but smiled, bobbed his head with the beat. Tapped his toes. And today they all want berets.
Yeah, silly, but we're just listening to the paint here and this is where it went.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Posted by Janice C. Cartier at 7:00 AM