Fickle inspiration. It’s a neverending game of reinvented rules. The newest addendum: for lyrics, headphones and a near-dawn bedtime are required. I spent yesterday evening making a mix, and ended up listening to neglected albums for another several hours. Around 4:45 a.m. or so, in the eerie stillness, it suddenly slipped into the room. Hung its coat on a chair. Poured some tea. And words began to materialize out of the ether, words I’d been groping toward for weeks, making their slippery, stumbling way across the screen. Hallelujah.
So it appears I’m in for some late nights. I am inviting some unusual friends to keep me company — friends-of-friends really, at this point, but they seem like an intriguing bunch.
Tan Dun, Ghost Opera
Osvaldo Golijov, Yiddishbbuk
Dolly Parton, Little Sparrow
George Crumb, Unto The Hills/Black Angels
Magnificent Seventh’s Brass Band, An Authentic New Orleans Jazz Funeral