Coltrane at 2am in the rain. And swaths of sound, a cult of words becoming when spoken aloud. Leaves that trapped the desert sun unexpectedly. Radiant, chameleon like as the stars migrated gracefully. Yes, that sums up the last 14 hours. Great conversation and even better music.
‘You and I have known each other in temples across time…’ I said. I know, roll your eyes if you must. Such bullshit, new age hippie talk right? But bladdy hell when it feels more true, what else is left to do, but welcome the morning as it arrives with the sun, while grooving to a fat bass line entangled with messy, delicious chords? This is how one should wake up, I thought. With music that feels like prayer. Not the silent kind though, but of the ilk that demands you plunge, dive and dream, carousing every nerve in your body from the deepest of slumbers.
It’s nothing short of grace finding yourself in that place with someone. Watching them unfurl and relishing every movement from the corner of your eye as the music ebbs and swells.
And so much music! From classical, to tango, drum and base, psychedelic rock, death metal, Gregorian chants and jazz. I love how surprising life can be. Meeting a kindred spirit, forgotten member of your tribe. Him and his river of bones, the silence that feels like madness forever threatning to fracture. And me with my safe hands he says.
‘I can show you fear in handful of dust…’ T. S bladdy Elliot. It was sublime, every minute of it.