Everything Happens for a Reason

If you have a half-hour to spare, you might like to watch the first performance of my work-in-progress choose-your-own-adventure music from the ChamberLab concert on May 9th, 2015. If you’d like to watch it in bits and pieces, there’s a table of contents in the video description.

Say Hello to My Little Friend

Just came home today! Of the three double basses I’ve owned in my life, this is the first one that is A) fully-carved, B) from Romania, C) 7/8 size rather than 3/4, and D) really just super loud. It (she? he? don’t know yet) was made last year, so I’m the first owner! I am beside myself, and can’t wait to climb all over it. My previous warhorse, a 1980 Engelhardt, will shortly be converted to a slap bass, with nylon strings and vertigo-inducing action.

June Residency at the Coronet

coronet-june-2015-webI’ve been working on a songbook for duo shows, full of originals, seldom-played ChamberLab pieces, standards, non-standards, and other things.

Jeff Grubic (saxophone) and Nick Coventry (violin) have brought music of their own, including a nice pile of Balkan and Tzigane songs courtesy of Nick. We’re playing a series of concerts at the Coronet.

Tuesday, June 2, with Jeff Grubic
Thursday, June 4, with Nick Coventry
Tuesday, June 16, with Jeff Grubic
Thursday, June 18, with Nick Coventry

Back to Bed

This is the music to a chapter of Everything Happens for a Reason, taken from a rehearsal recording for the ChamberLab concert that took place on May 9th. That’s Michael Simmons on cello, and Samantha Bounkeua on violin. We didn’t play this piece at the concert, because the audience chose not to go “Back to Bed.” (Good thing, too, as you can see from the text below. They would have died, and the concert would have been over!)

Back to Bed

You fall, in slow motion, back into bed. There has never been happiness, joyfulness, relief, peace, like this before. You are a flood of warmth, of red light and black shadows. You vibrate and hum with gratitude.

The covers embrace you. The pillow cradles you. The soft down comforter—where did all this come from?—comforts you. Do you sleep?

Your cells glow, their walls shimmering into translucency, into insubtantiality. They dissolve. Do you sleep? You melt into the sheets, through the sheets, like you never were, into the soft, welcoming bed. You vanish. Do you sleep?

A shadow enters the room to rest, to dream of you.

You are dead and gone. Do you sleep?

You are dead.