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November 21, 2004
Sunday In America
Ornette Coleman is a 74 year-old man who picks up his horn and blows out pure light. In his powder blue suit, purple tie and black-feathered hat, he is the king of the hill, the cock of the walk, the rule of the roost. In his gait he carries all of his years and then some, until he starts playing. Feet tap, knees bounce, fingers dance. Curious eyes shine, and that sound, that horn, that unmistakable noise comes out, the one that’s kept me floating for a week. I wept and I shivered. I smiled and I shook. Rejoicing, I sat, surrounded and enveloped and cushioned by one of the purest, truest American things I know, one of the only ones I have any good faith remaining in, and in this time and place, that was more than enough.
Posted by pogo at 09:09 PM | TrackBack
November 14, 2004
Beauty Is A Rare Thing
You know how when you’re a little kid and really excited about something that’s going to happen and it’s all you can think about? Like you wake up in the morning and think, “Yay, it’s my birthday,” or “Woo-hoo, I’m going to go see Star Wars tonight and it’s gonna be the best thing ever!”.
My very first thought this morning was, “I’m going to see Ornette Coleman tonight,” and every other thought I’ve had since then just keeps coming back around to that and refusing to let me sit still or concentrate on any one thing at all.
Posted by pogo at 09:59 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack