Sometimes, I still believe that I'm the smartest person in the world. Then, after six beers I find myself walking home from Jason's house with my coat on inside out. Fuck. I like Rothenberg's metaphor of combining genres of music and learning to improvise by your own rules.
I'm trying to find my voice within the rules set by your lead. It is difficult for me, a song like I've never played. Your chord changes and scales are foreign and, at times, I find myself extremely depressed by my lack of movement within the walls set before me. I feel closed in, and helpless and am grasping for the best way to play my song.
And, still you set the pace, playing comfortably at ease with a dignified rhythm and glowing confidence in the path now set. I grow increasingly uncomfortable with the notes I choose... feeling out of place, like an asshole with no invite who chooses to crash the party anyway.
A blind-man reading brail for the first time.
I wish to play the blues at a crossroads, while you play hymns to the heavens. And, I find myself falling further into the abyss...
There is a note on my bedroom door that says:
I'm watching you, and careful of the steps I take. I want to play beautiful music, even if I am not writing the song. I keep looking for the space in which I can let my voice be heard, but am careful to not crowd the other instruments. This is, after all, your song... not mine.
If you listen carefully, you will hear an eternity of suffering in my improvisation. Even, if the song is about triumph.
And, this is a song that I will grow to love.
What are you thinking about?
Late night, on my laptop...