Billy and the rest of the gang.
on a sweltering evening such as this,
and with the sincerest blues I've had in I don't know how long,
and talking about moving to South Harlem
and wishing I could will an exchange, will a response, will this all to happen as it should
walking up amsterdam ave all I can think of to do
is sing Billy Strayhorn's "Lush Life"
which I think is one of the most musically challenging
and soulful tunes ever written.
the chromaticism in the intro leading to the toothy swaggar
of the body of the tune
those lyrics!
That phrasing! I could not love it more.
How many times have I sang to myself
ah, yes, I was wrong,
again,
I was wrong....
I want to get behind that phrase,
and for a moment I do, I feel it,
but I want to be wrong about it. Wrong that I am wrong.
When I get home, I look up this song I love oh so much,
which is no crime, knowing more about such a song,
and I discover that Billy Strayhorn wrote the majority of it
at age 16.
Reaffirming that all potential I had to be a creative genius
was squandered while I was in the tender age of Strayhorn
16 and caught up in the flurry of needing to be accepted
and becoming a cheerleader, round II instead of writing
brutally beautiful jazz tunes with lyrics that rhyme "Awful"
with "trough full" which no one, not even Sarah Vaughn can sing right;
or Rimbaud for that matter,
19 and worried about Russian 101 (which would be learned
regardless
at the age of 22, three whole years past the prime)
Rimbaud gave up Poetry at 19, just because.
What is it I am meant to do?
I have recited
LAMENT FOR THE MAKERS
for two separate people this week
and I'm feeling it. I'm feeling the buzz of needing to make
tonight Jen Swindle, who I hope to live with soon,
and I discussed our space requirements
and I asked if I could put a vandercook press in our common room
Ideally I would have a space where I could have a vandercook
and a case for type
I'd have a nice, big work table, a sewing machine
(even though i do not know how to sew)
a book press, a few good bookshelves for everything
a music stand, an upright piano and a little mat to roll out on the floor and sleep.
all of this would be attached to a grand kitchen,
with ingeniously designed counters and cupboards.
but regardless... making.
It must be done.
Loving,
must also be done.
So much lush life.
Ah, Yes, I was wrong,
again.
I was wrong.
and with the sincerest blues I've had in I don't know how long,
and talking about moving to South Harlem
and wishing I could will an exchange, will a response, will this all to happen as it should
walking up amsterdam ave all I can think of to do
is sing Billy Strayhorn's "Lush Life"
which I think is one of the most musically challenging
and soulful tunes ever written.
the chromaticism in the intro leading to the toothy swaggar
of the body of the tune
those lyrics!
That phrasing! I could not love it more.
How many times have I sang to myself
ah, yes, I was wrong,
again,
I was wrong....
I want to get behind that phrase,
and for a moment I do, I feel it,
but I want to be wrong about it. Wrong that I am wrong.
When I get home, I look up this song I love oh so much,
which is no crime, knowing more about such a song,
and I discover that Billy Strayhorn wrote the majority of it
at age 16.
Reaffirming that all potential I had to be a creative genius
was squandered while I was in the tender age of Strayhorn
16 and caught up in the flurry of needing to be accepted
and becoming a cheerleader, round II instead of writing
brutally beautiful jazz tunes with lyrics that rhyme "Awful"
with "trough full" which no one, not even Sarah Vaughn can sing right;
or Rimbaud for that matter,
19 and worried about Russian 101 (which would be learned
regardless
at the age of 22, three whole years past the prime)
Rimbaud gave up Poetry at 19, just because.
What is it I am meant to do?
I have recited
LAMENT FOR THE MAKERS
for two separate people this week
and I'm feeling it. I'm feeling the buzz of needing to make
tonight Jen Swindle, who I hope to live with soon,
and I discussed our space requirements
and I asked if I could put a vandercook press in our common room
Ideally I would have a space where I could have a vandercook
and a case for type
I'd have a nice, big work table, a sewing machine
(even though i do not know how to sew)
a book press, a few good bookshelves for everything
a music stand, an upright piano and a little mat to roll out on the floor and sleep.
all of this would be attached to a grand kitchen,
with ingeniously designed counters and cupboards.
but regardless... making.
It must be done.
Loving,
must also be done.
So much lush life.
Ah, Yes, I was wrong,
again.
I was wrong.