Monday, July 28, 2009, 0100hrs.
It’s past midnight and I’m overstimulated. I spent the morning at www.tedgreene.com; it motivated me to get out my battered copy of Chord Chemistry and start developing a plan of attack on this mysterious beauty we call music. For a while now I’ve been doing much more listening than playing; records have stolen all of my money and most of my time. All day today I studied and practiced; now I’m feeling worn out and restless. But I scribbled down a long list of short– and long–term goals for myself, and I’ll be back at it tomorrow. I’ve never been a person to organize my life with lists, but lately I’m finding them useful. They help me focus.
I’ve been loving The Best of the Blue Note Years, a basic collection of Thelonious Monk’s oblique compositions and improvisations. I’ve also been grooving on Bitches Brew and Big Fun, both by Miles Davis. Then we’ve got Song of Songs from classical vocalists Stile Antico… songs of God that could lay an army down. Also Pieces of Africa from Kronos Quartet. It sounds like African choruses arranged for strings and percussion, but I haven't done my homework on that yet.
My favorite recording lately has been “Transblucency” from Duke Ellington. It’s an impressionistic piece with an eerie theremin-like nonverbal vocal melody. The tune's supposed to evoke “a blue fog you can almost see through.” The clarinet plays counterpoint and Ellington adds percussive piano splashes here and there, grounding the otherwise ethereal textures.
I’d like to gush about many more albums and recordings here, but I’ll spare you for now. Suffice to say that when I listen to music, that’s all I do. I sit and listen. And there is no shortage of richness or nuance in the musical wild.
Last week I went down hard on the granite doorstep of a dress shop downtown while serving a former Miss Maine her coffee. I landed totally prone: half on the step, half in a puddle, wearing it all with sugar and cream. Got some big complex bruises out of that one (still wearing it on my thigh, right below my ass) and fucked up my elbow temporarily. Ms. Maine tried hard not to laugh, but you know how it is when somebody pulls an impromptu Buster Keaton act at your front door.
I’ve managed somehow to satisfy my own work ethic tonight. I sit here at a loss: I’ve practiced, I’ve written, I’ve read, I’ve listened to some great recordings, I’ve eaten more fruit salsa than the body is meant to take in one sitting. I suppose it’s time to turn in. Goodnight and thanks for reading this.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Sunday, July 05, 2009, 1917hrs.
Today is the first sunny day I’ve seen for five weeks here, so I’m going to get back into it momentarily. I just ran, so I’m soaked and feeling great. A cell phone alarm was supposed to alert me when I’d run my usual allotment, but apparently I had been squeezing the “Snooze” button between my leg and body because I didn’t notice it ringing until the third time it buzzed. That means I ran fifteen minutes longer than originally planned. Not a bad mistake.
As much as my body loves to run, I have a hard time focusing my mind out there. I don’t have any portable music devices or anything, so there’s really nothing to do while I circle the park. When boredom tempts me to go home early, I distract myself with romantic thoughts instead. That probably sounds funny if you know me personally, but that’s how I refocus. I think: “If you get involved with somebody, Tozier, your body is half hers. Wouldn’t you both want your body to be healthy and mean?” This is also how I talk myself out of skipping workouts. You would laugh if you saw me in my apartment, red-faced and growling obscenities toward the end of each set of reps, with my little playlist of love ballads piping through the stereo in the background.
I’ve still got a full day and a half off from the cafe, so I’ll probably finish writing a few songs during that time. I plan to release this first album as a handmade CD with handmade packaging. Lots of labor involved.
I need to get out in the sun before it goes down. My body’s still humming happily from what I just put it through. After dusk I’ll pound some coffee down, get wired, and get back to work. I’ve spent a combined total of ten hours at the typewriter and the guitar since last night, and tonight is young. I have the new Meat Puppets album, but I'm feeling a little lost because I finished my last taped Borges lecture last night. Maybe I'll just start the whole series over again.
Very soon my daily entries will shift toward describing the still-unnamed CD and its construction. If you're a regular reader, I promise that you will grow rapidly sick of hearing about it.
Gotta get outside now--sun is setting. Take care of yourself! Thanks for reading.
Today is the first sunny day I’ve seen for five weeks here, so I’m going to get back into it momentarily. I just ran, so I’m soaked and feeling great. A cell phone alarm was supposed to alert me when I’d run my usual allotment, but apparently I had been squeezing the “Snooze” button between my leg and body because I didn’t notice it ringing until the third time it buzzed. That means I ran fifteen minutes longer than originally planned. Not a bad mistake.
As much as my body loves to run, I have a hard time focusing my mind out there. I don’t have any portable music devices or anything, so there’s really nothing to do while I circle the park. When boredom tempts me to go home early, I distract myself with romantic thoughts instead. That probably sounds funny if you know me personally, but that’s how I refocus. I think: “If you get involved with somebody, Tozier, your body is half hers. Wouldn’t you both want your body to be healthy and mean?” This is also how I talk myself out of skipping workouts. You would laugh if you saw me in my apartment, red-faced and growling obscenities toward the end of each set of reps, with my little playlist of love ballads piping through the stereo in the background.
I’ve still got a full day and a half off from the cafe, so I’ll probably finish writing a few songs during that time. I plan to release this first album as a handmade CD with handmade packaging. Lots of labor involved.
I need to get out in the sun before it goes down. My body’s still humming happily from what I just put it through. After dusk I’ll pound some coffee down, get wired, and get back to work. I’ve spent a combined total of ten hours at the typewriter and the guitar since last night, and tonight is young. I have the new Meat Puppets album, but I'm feeling a little lost because I finished my last taped Borges lecture last night. Maybe I'll just start the whole series over again.
Very soon my daily entries will shift toward describing the still-unnamed CD and its construction. If you're a regular reader, I promise that you will grow rapidly sick of hearing about it.
Gotta get outside now--sun is setting. Take care of yourself! Thanks for reading.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Just Another Work Day.
July 4th, 2009. 1733hrs. --- Got up early this morning to prepare a catering order, then worked a crazy lunch shift all by my lonesome at the cafe. I was the entire operation; clerk, server, cook, everything. It was wild. Five hours of sleep wasn't enough, but the caffeine supply is looking good.
My first CD of original songs and compositions is almost done. Some of you will receive copies by mail or by hand very soon. I'm looking forward to getting feedback. It'll also feel good to prove that I haven't been slacking on all those nights that I've turned down social outings: "Here ya go, everyone. I wasn't exactly partying without you." My beard is entirely a product of pulling double shifts and trying to wrap this CD up. After that I've just got four more recording projects to finish. Jesus Christ.
A novelist I admire very much, Cheryl Drake-Harris, has offered to mentor me on the craft. She has recently landed back in the states after a lengthy stay in Mexico, during which I missed her very much. You can check out her book Lily's Ghost, published by Random House, by picking it up in a major bookstore or visiting Amazon.
The "novel" I was working on is in need of serious work and will most likely be distilled into short-story length. The good news is that I'm free to write whatever I want after that.
Recently wrote to Henry Rollins, received a thoughtful and prompt response. Surprised, impressed, and even a little starstruck by that; I'm a big fan of his "spoken word" CDs.
Satisfyingly sore after yesterday's workout. I love that feeling.
Got quite an eclectic mix going: some Marvin Gaye, David Bowie, Judith Owen, Black Flag, The Birthday Party, Dinosaur Jr., some Paraguayan harp music, even a little Pete Seeger. I'm about to lock myself in my apartment for the next three days with that stack of records, Kafka's complete short works, espresso aplenty, a freezer full of vegetables and salmon... and of course many cans of beans. I must go now. My desk awaits. Thanks for reading this.
My first CD of original songs and compositions is almost done. Some of you will receive copies by mail or by hand very soon. I'm looking forward to getting feedback. It'll also feel good to prove that I haven't been slacking on all those nights that I've turned down social outings: "Here ya go, everyone. I wasn't exactly partying without you." My beard is entirely a product of pulling double shifts and trying to wrap this CD up. After that I've just got four more recording projects to finish. Jesus Christ.
A novelist I admire very much, Cheryl Drake-Harris, has offered to mentor me on the craft. She has recently landed back in the states after a lengthy stay in Mexico, during which I missed her very much. You can check out her book Lily's Ghost, published by Random House, by picking it up in a major bookstore or visiting Amazon.
The "novel" I was working on is in need of serious work and will most likely be distilled into short-story length. The good news is that I'm free to write whatever I want after that.
Recently wrote to Henry Rollins, received a thoughtful and prompt response. Surprised, impressed, and even a little starstruck by that; I'm a big fan of his "spoken word" CDs.
Satisfyingly sore after yesterday's workout. I love that feeling.
Got quite an eclectic mix going: some Marvin Gaye, David Bowie, Judith Owen, Black Flag, The Birthday Party, Dinosaur Jr., some Paraguayan harp music, even a little Pete Seeger. I'm about to lock myself in my apartment for the next three days with that stack of records, Kafka's complete short works, espresso aplenty, a freezer full of vegetables and salmon... and of course many cans of beans. I must go now. My desk awaits. Thanks for reading this.
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