musical musings

The Tao Of Tasty Brushwork

If I were a jazz pianist I would

                have already paid my dues in one lump

sum on a tip from some country singer

on his way down who gives me the shirt

off his back, a Nudie with piping

that gleams and plenty of rhinestones that

catch the stage lights just so and sweep

in reflection across the polished

planes of my 1890 Rosewood

Steinway Grand Modal C,

                A real beaut with a pedigree, one

I won’t fail to mention from the

stage in the second set during the pause

between How High The Moon and

I Love The Life I Live

from behind a bobbing cigarette,

sharing the remarkable fact  

that this is the very same piano

Mose Allison once played in a week-long

stand at the Blue Note in 1962.  Later

                in the set I’ll work Jimmy the

trumpet player’s name into a tune

and trade winks with the guy on stand up

bass, the drummer oblivious; lost

to us all in some very tasty brushwork. 

Poem

Above Fanny Hooe

Two man dome, ground tarp, old zipper-shot

flannel bags, battered perk pot, your worn camping

sweater and all the rest of it,

chairs, books, bug dope

We’ll get an early start,

Rose curled atop the clutter,

hunkered down with other loaded memories; so

much for traveling light.  Naubinway’s visible from

        the top of the span but we’ll tune in AM 530

        for bridge conditions, muted crackling menace ramps

up the

vertiginous thrill of

crossing, counting harnessed

bridge painters eating lunch, backs to the strait,

helmets   ranked     steel        turtles     on    a      log

                Late lunch at the Brownstone Inn,

whitefish, wine, coffee, pie, cool lake air

aperitif, Greg Brown all the way to Baraga,

        Mose Allison to smooth the final leg

Light enough at ten to stake tent rings

on the bluff above Fanny Hooe, forage

kindling, build the fire that will

ward off the August chill and cast

a copper glow around us, tiny ampule

of light, beacon for our gathering ghosts. 

       

Mose Allison

Mose Allison

Glottal blues sing-song,  

Dixie drawl behind beat, wry

as toast, work as play.