The first snow arrived and now the melting water drops are playing percussion on my skylight. It’s reminding me of free jazz master Cecil Taylor on piano, when I saw him play one cold winter’s day in Amherst.
- Cecil Taylor in a brilliant blur
[Visit Photographer Mary Gaston’s Flicker page (some rights reserved)]
Free jazz requires you to learn how to listen to it–unless you, like most babies, love it straight away. You have to learn to love it as a wall of sound, or a texture, and let go of expectation from one minute to the next. For me it’s an exercise in zen. It is pure listening, with each moment unique to my ear. It is a physically felt experience, and as different notes and tones hit different pieces of my body, it is as if I were that keyboard with all different keys. From the number of free jazz shows I attended –and dating a DJ, there were quite a few– I’ve learned that they are like a pure exchange of energy from the musician to me. If the man playing is filled with light and has a good heart, as in the case of Cecil Taylor, I feel it. If he is angry, or sad, or stagnated, I feel that. The music fills the room and entrains me to it, and as this musician pours himself out into pure sound, I become immersed in it until I am the same. It is as close as you can get to pure communication.
Try to listen by feel, and watch how Mr. Taylor dances as he plays. I think it makes more sense that way.
Remarkable for a man in his eighties, isn’t he?
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Were you able to let go of the need for continuity and just experience it as it happened?
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Mysterious Artemis 