I've got my iTunes set to random play and a piece of music came on that sent me for a bit of a loop. It's not music that you would enjoy: I mean, let's be real, I listen to some seriously weird music and most every person who reads this would agree that you find some of my favorite music barely bearable.
Anyway, the piece of music was "Listen" by Scott Johnson, from the album "John Somebody." Essentially, the piece fits in nicely with the rest of the album, which consists of percussion-styled music composed for all sorts of things: drums, piano, electric guitar, tape loops, bass. If you've ever heard of the great American composer Steve Reich, Scott Johnson is of that ilk.
And now, the point of all this: My buddy John Brower hooked me up with the above-mentioned album. He'd heard that I really was a fan of Steve Reich, so he duped me a CD of "John Somebody." I fell in love with it. As I enjoy the repetition of ambient music and minimalist music, and as I enjoy the off-kilter approach to percussion, such as found in the works of Frank Zappa and Laurie Anderson, this album was just a home-run. A brilliant, insightful, mesmerizing work.
John died about a year ago, and it still drives me crazy that I can't talk to him about this album and what it's meant to my musical ears.
John had the biggest musical ears of any person I've ever known. He was a giant, with a musical vocabulary that was global in its scope. I miss him very, very much.
The Gift
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[Christmas, 1965 or thereabout]
The boy was very young; perhaps 7 or 8 years old. He loved everything about
Christmas - the lights, the music, Santa ...
4 months ago
4 Comments:
hey stu- i know so about what you mean. i find comfort in my memories and the fact that by missing my friends or my mother-in-law and remembering them they continue to exist. maybe your friend john was sending you a hug via itunes. ya never know... xoxo
Ah, geez, I so often get the same longing for my Dad. His tastes were NOT mine - mine running towards HM, his more towards jazz - but we overlapped enough that I still find myself, 14 years after this death, saying to myself, "Gee, Dad would like to hear that..." and then remembering that he can't.
I am so with what Lori said. Even thought it before clicking over to the comments. sometimes I really believe that these little memories starts come from our lost loved ones letting us know that they still think of us too.
And as with Sully, I miss my Dad like the dickens, especially when I hear Jim Crochy (Is that how you spell his name?). Dad's been gone for 12, coming up on 13 years, and I still think he might call every now and again, just to see what I was up to.
Stu I hope you're hanging in there without your honey. Just thinkin' about you.
Keep up the good work.
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