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Saturday, 28th April 2001  |
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11.26
A morning of e-flurry. 17.40
Vissarion Shebalin is rocking out behind me. This dude is a groover. The sun continues to shine on Mount Juliet and, walking around the garden Belewbeloid this morning, the word "verdant" sprang to mind. A gentle afternoon. This morning I completed reading Chapter Eight of "The Toxic Avengers". Once again, I find it impossible to understand from these accounts how Crimson ever managed to play any music at all, let alone any that an audience might want to hear. While changing strings, I listened to some Soundscapes from the World Financial Centre last November. A performance is more than the music heard apart from the context in which it entered the world. In some of these Soundscapes I can hear an engagement and negotiation taking place between performer, audience and Atrium. Some of them are exquisite (acknowledging my bias) and some may have worked in the space, or not, but purely as music are not sufficient to draw me in today. And then - suddenly - I'm in! And sometimes, shortly afterwards, out again. The more I learn about music, playing it, calling on it to take charge and direct me, the more musicians I know and work with, the greater my experience, the more I am baffled. Music eludes all attempts to pin it down, and yet remains as available to us as we are to the music.
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