Music log
Well they found Warren, and I’ve been playing in the garden every week-end minus rain and bluster days.
Each Saturday when I drag out the speakers I may have a moment when I think too much, but later I always have a moment when I’m really glad I did. I play as long as anyone is within earshot, then people come in and somehing good usually happens. It is an honor to be listened to and I am glad to be experimenting with all kinds of sounds and songs. The more people listen, the better I can hear.
I now keep a log now of just names and dates.
My memory was never impressive with names. Nor numbers, actually – or embarrassing moments, luckily. But lately I have been meeting people in my garden who I’d like to remember. Somehow the music that I play brings in a certain kind of people. Not strange, I suppose, but the good thing is that they listen and then the music flows.
The way I feel about it, music is like rainbows we all get to dance in. By listening we focus our attention to that which cannot be seen. We know the source of the sound, but not where the music is coming from. As a writer/recorder of music that is the wonder of it. Between the notes, among the rhythms is a dance in another world, that we can perceive together. Our bodies can feel it and we can move with each other – music travels all through the body and it talks to every cell on the way. Music to me is a form of touch.
And so we talk about things like that between songs on the weekend. People come in and allow themselves a break from anything else – then I play and talk a little or a lot. Anyone who can play can come listen.
The garden is open for the summer.
I’ll keep a log from now on.
Salutamus Los Olivos.
