It was white. Everything was white. Translucent. It was cold. Everywhere was cold. The neighborhood silent. Montreal, breathless. Frost. Ice. Still. Insomnia. January 1998.
Lately, I fall asleep to the sound of woodwinds. Tonight, the sound of brass was muted by the storm, and replaced by the sound of wind whistling through the window pane. In our living room, on the television stand, a new copy of Sonny Rollins‘ Saxophone Colossus, unwrapped. The Great Ice Storm is the evening’s band leader, and winter blues in Cold major, its melody. Newk will have to sit this one out. As will sleep.
It was black. Everything was black. Thick. It was raw. Everywhere was raw. The neighborhood windswept. Montreal, scorched. Fog. Rain. Heavy. Halloween 1996.
Lately, I don’t sleep. Dad died. The sound of my mother’s tears from her bedroom cuts through Thom Yorke‘s falsetto. I hit pause on the CD player. Grief sings to me from a few feet away. Please mom, hit the stop button. On the floor, a borrowed copy of John Coltrane‘s Blue Train, untouched. I’m sorry dad, but I’m chasing the blues away. Trane will ride this one out with me. Until the morning comes.
Improvisation calms me. Through jazz, I sleep. Dissecting harmonies. Intellectualizing the blues. Muzzling all expressions of feelings. I have padded my inner walls. I feel safe. I live and sleep by myself. The occasional sleepover guests share the same concerns: I have created a space in which no one lives. How wrong they are: my mind roams aimlessly in the opened structures of jazz. They are not invited.
Turn the record over.
_________________________
Note from the author: The Blues and The Abstract Truth is a four-part reflection on Jazz and its impact on my life during the years that followed my father’s death. The title The Blues and The Abstract Truth is borrowed from the Oliver Nelson album recorded in 1961.
Related articles:
- The Blues and the Abstract Truth (Side 2);
- The Blues and the Abstract Truth (Side 3).
A beautiful piece of writing. Quiet and tender and touching . . . and genuine. I read the words in a whisper . . . and gently. I’m so sorry for your loss, my friend. Music can provide the comfort that friends and loved ones sometimes can’t. It can help heal us or get us through a tragic loss in nonhuman ways. And time, whether 20 years ago or 20 days ago, takes on a life of it’s own. Thank you so much for sharing this side of yourself with us. I just adore this. And you. Blessings to you and those you love. xoJulia
Posted by Julia Kovach | January 19, 2013, 13:07Julia,
I enjoyed writing this one very much. Each of these snippets have their own tone, and support a particular emotion. The next one is about a next phase which was much more difficult on me…
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 22, 2013, 11:04What a beautiful piece of writing. I love the way you create layers of mood in it through your writing and through the musical references. Love the black and white motifs… Wow.
Posted by Deliberately Delicious | January 19, 2013, 15:17DD,
Thank you so very much. I’m happy with the reception this piece received.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 20, 2013, 21:54What magic! To put jazz into words, words that truly carry the mind and heart to the place you want to just be. Beautiful magic!
Posted by ♡eM | January 19, 2013, 15:20♡eM ,
That is very kind of you to say. Thank you.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 22, 2013, 11:02not everyone has an appreciation for jazz, and i’m one of them. i think we all have sets of antenna. antennae. little wire bastards. and some of those “wires” pick up on certain things, and others don’t. however, there’s no arguing that jazz has a soul. and there’s no arguing that this piece of writing has soul. and just because i can’t pick up the soul through the wrong antenna i have does not mean i can’t pick up the soul through a window or a door. looking forward to the rest.
i like the choppiness of the writing. it’s like a staccato in panic mode. it’s like short bursts, getting pelted with feelings. well done.
Posted by rich | January 19, 2013, 19:35Rich,
I love your writing, but mostly, I love your insights, Rich. Your feelings and thoughts pass right through your words, fluidly.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 19, 2013, 19:54that’s because i’m made of liquid metal, like that other guy in Terminator 2. but seriously, thanks very much.
Posted by rich | January 19, 2013, 20:00What strikes me is how the rhythm and cadence of your words and sentences reflects the very jazz and emotional impacts you describe. Making words read as music to the ear is no easy feat. You nailed it.
Posted by jmmcdowell | January 19, 2013, 20:54JMMcDowell,
I’m particularly happy reading this from you. It’s high praise, thank you.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 22, 2013, 11:00Your words resonate. Echo off silent memories. February 1987. Snow piled deep. Warm edge to the wind stroking my face. Rain falling in tear-stroke brushes across my face. I had never loved so deeply and never has love come close to the sweet delicious agony since then…and she told me to leave. Never understood why just get out, get lost, be gone. Suitcase in hand. Backpack stuffed with memories. Meltdown in progress. Sony Walkman whispering blues straight into my brain…wandering the streets after midnight looking for a place to crash,,,blues kept me warm and walking. Kept me sane – no not sane too late for that – kept me from complete madness. Robert Cray and Johnny Lee Hooker guiding my footsteps through black sparkling February rain….
Posted by merlinspielen | January 19, 2013, 22:21Merlin,
Walkin’ Blues.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 19, 2013, 22:42I like the Grateful Dead version
Posted by merlinspielen | January 19, 2013, 22:50Reblogged this on composersofsibelius and commented:
Deep. Real deep.
Posted by Steve | January 21, 2013, 03:23Steve,
Thanks for the reblog.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 21, 2013, 07:45Love
Posted by Colleen Dubois Photography | January 21, 2013, 07:09Colleen,
Thank you, and it’s good to see you, as always.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 21, 2013, 07:45First off I’m so sorry for the loss of your father. It is always amazing to me how music can stop you in your tracks, and place you in a time and place you might have otherwise forgotten or wished to forget, yet at the same time it can soothe you in your solitude when nothing else can. Your post was a beautiful picture into what was obviously a dark time for you. I look forward to 2-4.
Posted by jeanjames26 | January 21, 2013, 08:40Jean James,
Welcome on A Clown on Fire… I see you’ve stumbled upon a Le Clown post and one by L’Éric’s on your first visit… And you’re still here.
Thank you for this thoughtful comment. Music has been such a soothing being, nothing less.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 21, 2013, 09:08Beautiful. I love using music to soothe my soul. I’ve found that dealing with silence and simply my thoughts swirling around in my head can be too raw at times, but lately, I seem to be handling it a little better.
Posted by vyvacious | January 22, 2013, 01:02Vyv,
Music is my chocolate cake…
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 22, 2013, 10:59Ooh. I like that. Now I understand you a little better…
Posted by vyvacious | January 23, 2013, 01:43Dear Eric,
Music, like nothing else, has the power to reach to the very core of Self to express Its perfection unfolding…I’m looking forward to the coming compositions, my friend. Sublime! xoxoM
Posted by Margarita | January 23, 2013, 17:53