Sometimes when I’m playing through the development section of a piece by one of the German Romantics, knotty modulation after modulation, tortured fragmentation after fragmentation, one wringy uncomfortable key after the next, I wonder to myself: was it something in their diet? Did these people simply have stomachaches all the time?
I’ve often wondered why I took up music, for which I had only moderate early visible talent, when I so loved writing, and had a more immediate knack for it.
Here is why: music was more mysterious.
Also, more social.
One thing I’ve been doing, in preparation for an upcoming project, is listening nearly every day to the Bill Evans Trio’s Sunday at the Village Vanguard (1961). After nearly twenty years of developing familiarity, hearing this album is still something like looking at the ocean. Placid on one plane, churning and chaotic on another, it’s beautiful on the surface, and reflects light in a manner endlessly interesting; but the main thing it leaves me with is a curiosity and fascination to know what lies hidden beneath.
10 Best of 2014
January: Wyoming and the Open
February: New Mexico and the Holes
Notes on The Accounts