You have harmonized your weakest beat, and have freed yourself from the blues; your death plays on constant rotation. Get up to a different song, switch the catalog, mute the void, count cadence skip a beat downbeat out beat play outside The Multiplication Table.
Abstracting your death numbs the pain. A gut-ripping trip back to your legacy, hilltop—the home of my youth. Your hell. 24 flights of stairs erected on your crippled soul. Punch cards and prescription slips; you clocked, logged, marked every single sigh on your face. Your turmoil, not mine. Clutching at your past, holding on to your heritage, slipping through your broken life and your absent kisses. I will improvise you out of my being, circular breathing motions and sheets of sound. I will obscure your name until I forget it. In anonymity I will find my solace. Peek out from the precipice and I will furiously suffocate your memory. Focus on Sanity. Disappear in the crowd, find a grip on the nameless faces coming towards me. Never Run but Go. Silence, please. Perhaps we will meet again one day.
You are vibrant, I cannot negate your colours. You pulsate through my skin, giving shape to the father I will be.Tell me what to do, I’m all ears. Pace, tricks, gimmicks, licks, hooks…
What’s that you sing?
Change the record.
_________________________
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 1);
- The Blues and the Abstract Truth (Side 3).
This certainly puts a twist on my Wednesday morning.
Posted by denmother | January 23, 2013, 07:11Den Mother,
Listening to John Coltrane’s Meditations had done the same thing for the next few months that followed.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 09:20You speak in’ my language. Hopefully, you will eventually discover Afro-Cuban Jazz too.
Here’s my favourite piece from Irakere’s Chucho Valdes CLAUDIA:
Ahi na’ma! This is it!
Posted by Clandestine Cuba | January 23, 2013, 07:18Betty,
In my many years listening to jazz, fusion has never been my cup of tea, may it by Afro-Cuban jazz or bossa nova,. I did enjoy greatly jazz that was influenced by European folklore and middle Eastern music however.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 09:25“Silence, please.” Love that.
Posted by jenniburkeyoga | January 23, 2013, 08:01Jenni,
Yes, the desire to shut down all voices… Thank you.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 09:27I can completely relate to that need for peace.
Posted by jenniburkeyoga | January 23, 2013, 12:16This is your own personal Howl, maybe? I’m loving it. (And you say you’re not a poet!)
Posted by happyzinny | January 23, 2013, 08:05Ooh, nice one. I hadn’t thought about this being like Howl but that’s perfect.
Posted by Madame Weebles | January 23, 2013, 08:40Deadly Nightshade,
I love your reference. I’ve read writers from the Beat Generation years before I got into jazz. But there’s a very similar free flowing/angry/passionate tone to the whole thing…
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 10:06It’s truly effective and affecting. You compressed a maelstrom of emotions and out popped a diamond. I cannot wait for the next two parts!
Posted by happyzinny | January 24, 2013, 00:20Beautifully said, happyzinny! And so true.
Posted by Madame Weebles | January 24, 2013, 00:29This truly is gorgeous. Stark and raw and brutal and honest. You can feel all the different, contradictory emotions here running into each other. Amazing, my friend.
Posted by Madame Weebles | January 23, 2013, 08:44Madame Weebles,
Thank. YOU. It is exactly what I felt at the time. And it was written in a similar fashion, freeform, letting all conflicting emotions talk. As short as it was, it was a doozy to write.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 10:02Since I can’t say it any better, I’ll just say that I second your opinion.
Posted by TAE | January 23, 2013, 14:15Eric,
Feels like anger – part of the grieving process – and necessary for ultimate healing. And all we can truly do is improvise…
Cathy
Posted by Cathy Ulrich | January 23, 2013, 09:06Cathy,
There is indeed anger, at least, there were… The four parts of The Blues and the Abstract Blues are about a different period in my grieving process, somewhat related to the music I was listening to. Free Jazz is not all anger, but the music of Albert Ayler or Peter Brontzmann for example did convey aggressiveness, and were somewhat soothing at the time. Also, I tried so hard to rationalize the music until I let go, and started to feel, which will bring part III which I accidentally published this morning (in parts…).
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 09:33I look forward to reading it…And I’m glad you were able to let go and feel. And that the music was there for you.
Posted by Cathy Ulrich | January 23, 2013, 09:42I sense anger too … but it ends in hope …. which is the wide range the road that jazz commonly travels in one song.
Posted by aFrankAngle | January 23, 2013, 09:27Frank,
There was a great deal of anger, yes. Free Jazz helped channel the anger. It subsided. Today, when I listen to John Zorn, Ornette Coleman, or Cecil Taylor, I hear the passion before the anger… The feelings, not the notes, as Albert Ayler would say.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 09:46I love this – jazz so perfectly evokes the waves of almost any emotion. It suits grief well.
Posted by artsifrtsy | January 23, 2013, 09:36L’Artsi,
I agree: different styles/different eras/different feelings. Or perhaps, same feelings, but expressed differently.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 09:50Beautiful piece.
Posted by artsifrtsy | January 23, 2013, 10:32Yep. You are high.
Seriously though, if you were here I would bring you to JazzFest in May in New Orleans. You would LOVE it. Maybe one day.
Posted by becca3416 | January 23, 2013, 09:40Becca,
This was written pre-Dilaudid. I would love to visit you and the New Orleans Jazz Fest. We also have an internationally recognized one in Montreal… Right back at you…
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 09:42Good music love is universal.
Posted by becca3416 | January 23, 2013, 09:49Oh Eric, you are so beautifully poetic with this. I love how this goes up, down…the anger like a rise in music and despair as a melody winds down. I think you did that on purpose, yes? The way you’ve expressed your confusion, anger, pain and even love, it ebbs and flows — like the jazz you describe. Very, very well done, my friend.
Posted by Brigitte | January 23, 2013, 10:24Brigitte,
Yes, there was crescendo, silence, stretched notes, pounding sounds, so much rage, and denial. It was hard to write, as my first weeks with Free Jazz were. I had to persevere, and it got through me once I let go. This one wouldn’t be an easy one to read, I thought. Thank you for making it through.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 10:31Touches familiar places that I have touched on in past posts. The feelings become so twisted up in each other. Yes, “pulsating through (your) skin,” but the father you will be is not permanently tied to these things. I had to untie some knots to be a better mother, even if ghosts still haunt my every move… especially as a parent. Beautiful Eric.
Posted by talesfromthemotherland | January 23, 2013, 10:44Tales,
Thank you. One of the best therapists I saw following my father’s suicide had said something similar to “untying knots” to go forward. The emotions described are old ones, even though I remember them clearly…
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 10:47I think we remain tied to certain feelings, emotions, that can be pulled out of the murk with the right song, or an event that triggers memories. That said, I choose to move forward and to my best to do better. Dawn
Posted by talesfromthemotherland | January 23, 2013, 11:06There’s a strange moment in the grieving process – I find – when the pain, at long last, starts to recede a little bit. And with this comes a panic, because the pain is part of what keeps the person (or even pet) with you. And it is inconceivable, and seems like betrayal, that you could ever feel better. Could ever “move on.” And you actually don’t want to – you want the vice-like pain to go on forever.
Fucking death, man.
Wonderfully written piece.
Posted by The Byronic Man | January 23, 2013, 10:45TBM,
It’s as if you become friends with that pain, right? The more you pass time with it, the more it becomes comfortable, and harder to let go, and move on, as you said… My grieving was a long one. My father took his life in 1996, and I visited his grave for the first time last year. There was the release. Thanks, TBM.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 10:57My best friend’s dad died suddenly when we were 10. 25 years later, (having never visited the grave) he got his dad’s initials tattooed on his shoulder. Suddenly, he started having panic attacks and couldn’t focus at work. Wound up in therapy. Ultimately for the best, I suppose, but a long road.
Posted by The Byronic Man | January 23, 2013, 11:01Eric, this is pure poetry. I love the rhythms and cadence. And the language! “I will obscure you out of my being…I will furiously suffocate your memory.” Yes. Yes. You’re speaking my experience.
Posted by Deliberately Delicious | January 23, 2013, 10:54Sally,
Thank you. That sentence sums up the feelings of the time. It came out as is. Again, a pleasure to read you. As always.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 24, 2013, 07:39Some just know how put their emotions into words.
Others, like me, just have to sit back and appreciate it.
Focus on Sanity, yes I like it.
Posted by Doggy's Style | January 23, 2013, 11:18Leo,
I must then thank you for being able to sit through this one, and being able to enjoy the show.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 24, 2013, 07:38Eric,
This series of words and thoughts and emotions is a masterpiece.
Like a sunrise or a birth or a moving art-piece it needs no explanation; only a witness.
Baring your life in this way brings harmony to it and soothes everyone fortunate enough to witness it. I don’t know what else to say except thank you, this is beautiful.
John
Posted by SocietyRed | January 23, 2013, 11:59John,
Thank you kindly for your warm words. I knew when I’d hit publish on this one that it might not be an easy read. Relieved to know that it has hit a nerve with some of you. It might fall into the category of “least popular post ever”, but it will remain one of my most personal.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 12:02Eric,
No.
Anyone categorizing this as “least popular post ever” wouldn’t be moved by a sunrise or a birth or an exceptional art-piece. I don’t know anyone like that. Even a blind man knows when the sun is rising.
I see brilliance here.
John
Posted by SocietyRed | January 23, 2013, 12:09Eric,
This is rich and dense, and an evocative piece. As intricate as it is, it is also very raw. I think my favorite line is this one, “Clutching at your past, holding on to your heritage, slipping through your broken life and your absent kisses. I will improvise you out of my being, circular breathing motions and sheets of sound.” By talking about the musical elements you tie it all together, your emotion infused with jazz in its free flowing, but structured disciplined form. Trying to keep it contained, but also the need to release and let go. I believe you achieved high art here.
Amy
Posted by The Bumble Files | January 23, 2013, 12:38Amy,
You’ve nailed it with this: “free flowing, but structured disciplined form”. When I wrote this, I thought about the process as something in the lines of “controlled freedom”. There was a flow to it that I followed in a strict set of rules. Thank you so much for your comment, my dear friend.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 24, 2013, 07:37Eric,
I always found it fascinating that you can find freedom in structure. It seems strange, but true. Maybe it has to do with pushing the limits within the structure.
Amy
Posted by The Bumble Files | January 24, 2013, 19:10I must admit that I was expecting something funny. Which is was, in its own weird way. What I was not expecting was to be moved… and to learn so much in such a short time. This is some deep stuff. That is what I get for expecting less and not more. Thank you.
Posted by pouringmyartout | January 23, 2013, 13:31Arthur,
Thank you for investing a few moments in this one. I usually publish Le Clown’s posts on Tuesdays, and post by L’Éric on Fridays, but I’m not following my own rules this week, nor will I next week… I’ll see you soon on your blog.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 24, 2013, 07:34Thank you. I look forward to it.
Posted by pouringmyartout | January 24, 2013, 09:16For some reason WordPress can’t find the page for the next part… why are they torturing me like this?
Posted by pouringmyartout | January 23, 2013, 13:32Arthur,
The first part is available at the end of the post. The third part was published this morning by mistake. My bad. It will be for next week… And I guess you already had a glimpse as to what type of jazz it will cover…
My apologies,
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 13:36No… I am still reeling from that post. Awesome. I am just glad the follow thing worked. Thanks again.
Posted by pouringmyartout | January 23, 2013, 13:37Eric,
I really really really like what you have done here. Please be well. Cheers.
-Soul Walker
Posted by Soul Walker | January 23, 2013, 16:00Soul Walker,
Thank you. This one was written without holding back, for myself.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 24, 2013, 07:32Eric,
Words, music, powerful, perfect.
Thanks,
Posted by Marie-Eve Bernard | January 23, 2013, 16:24Marie-Eve,
Thank you. The writing process was an interesting one too. I wrote the first draft in free form. I then worked the first draft again in free form, over it. And the last draft was to intertwine all of the words together. Thanks for dropping in, it’s always a pleasure to read you.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 24, 2013, 07:31Eric,
I hit ‘like’ but somehow it doesn’t seem epic enough to convey how I feel about that piece. It is exceptionally beautiful. You are an amazing poet. You honour your grief and your father’s memory in a way that most of us could only dream of.
On another note I am now on itunes downloading jazz.
Thank you. This is one of those pieces that will stay with me for the rest of my days.
Steph
Posted by stephrogers | January 23, 2013, 17:39Steph,
Those are strong words, thank you. If you’re new to jazz, I would suggest putting free/avant-guarde jazz on the back burner… If you like something that swings, a good place to start would be Miles David, and his Kind of Blue session… It’s a landmark.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 23, 2013, 18:18This piece, the way it is written, it makes me think a great deal of Jack Kerouac (and you know what that means, coming from me). But Jack Kerouac if he had taken fewer uppers and more downers. Rather, downers that didn’t get him so down as they did, just enough. It’s more relaxed and fluid, and you seem to be writing not just as yourself, but for yourself. Like you and the writing are one: which is what it should always be, what we wish it could always be. Hang on one moment — here it is. Tennesse Williams said, “If the writing is honest it cannot be separated from the man who wrote it.”, and that’s what you’ve done with this. It makes you quite vulnerable, but I would say your risk paid off brilliantly.
And the music, it’s solid. Following my previous train of thought, I could picture Kerouac sitting in some great dive with Neal Cassady and a few others, smoking and drinking and just getting wasted on the music, wasted in a good way. An evening well spent with cheap wine, good friends, and music to blow your mind. Especially the sample of “Never Run But Go” I am listening to right now. I can see them, I can see the smoke-filled room and the little stage, your pairing of the writing with the tunes is highly evocative. Text that is plaintive and pained, music that is rich and soothing, something to lose yourself in. But then that’s much the point, yes?
I didn’t know you had this in you, Eric. I hope you don’t take offense to that. But while I have very much enjoyed and often connected with your other writing, this stuff is pure.
Posted by Ruby Tuesday | January 23, 2013, 19:51Ruby,
This is my favourite comment. You took the experience as I intended it by listening to Peter Brotzmann. I didn’t not know that quote by Tennesse Williams: it is what the post and I were at the time of writing it.
Free Jazz is a genre that we often neglect, as it is often seen as hermetic and difficult to get into. But it is not, it’s all about feelings, and letting go and submitting yourself completely to the music. It was very a propos with that specific period of grieving. I myself was trying to intellectualize my father’s death, and like I was doing with free/abstract jazz, took a long way to finally arrive to the point where I knew I had to just let go and feel it, even the rage/anger. I appreciate the pure comment too. I think music from that genre is one of the purest forms of expression.
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 24, 2013, 07:27I loved the Ornette Coleman piece as well. I didn’t happen to be trying to intellectualize anything in the moment, so the music and your words just took me and I went.
I understand (oh, but do I!) the need to to intellectualize — to wrap our heads around, to understand, to rationalize, to somehow make it all make some goddamned sense. . . The losses I have experienced have obviously been different to yours, but if you can somehow fit them into your mind, if you can somehow make them make sense in the greater context, if somehow you can be in control of the ride. . .
That’s how it’s been for me. But, as you obviously know, that isn’t how it works.
I am very glad you are sharing these pieces. And the Tennessee Williams is fitting, I knew I had to find that one.
The pure applies to your writing every bit as much as the music. It is a fine symmetry.
Posted by Ruby Tuesday | January 24, 2013, 08:45Eric,
Holy fucking shit, man. This is raw. And powerful.
Posted by Adam S | January 24, 2013, 00:25Adam,
Thank you and the fucking shit!
Eric
Posted by Le Clown | January 24, 2013, 07:21Letting go, drawing in, shutting off, and in the silence the music plays on. You are creating and re-creating out of memories, much like the music can.
Lovely pictures, so soulful.
Posted by iRuniBreathe | January 24, 2013, 10:35You make great, soulful music yourself, my friend.
Posted by The Hook | January 24, 2013, 12:48The opening line from Shakespear’s “12th Night” is “If music be the food of love, play on.”
The Bard didn’t get it right. Music is the expression of the soul’s experience of life, and all the twists and turns that the emotions to which we are subjected play out.
Your words are like music.
Posted by faithhopechocolate | January 25, 2013, 12:24