There were the pieces that you expected. A hand slid up and down the neck of the bass, fingers rhythmically plucking each of the strings, in perfect synchrony with the snares and cymbals. Piano notes twinkled in and out over this consistent foundation, guitar chords tying them together. But the surprise came in the form of the brass — a horn section appeared out of nowhere, four of them suddenly on the stage, grabbing the audience by the collar one by one with their winding, melodic solos. At an open session at the Ornithology Jazz Club in Brooklyn, this is how things worked: anyone could go up and perform, and anyone would, thrusting themselves into the middle of each other’s performances and somehow adapting to the efforts of random musicians they hadn’t known before.
If you had never seen a musical instrument before and you saw a silent video of these musicians performing, it would seem like they were conducting witchcraft. Focused expressions, eyes looking at nothing in particular, arms and hands moving with intensity and speed that seem nearly superhuman across these arcane objects: hollowed out pieces of wood with metal lines drawn across, a variety of plastic membranes drawn across wooden cylinders lined up alongside metal plates, an enormous wooden contraption adorned with ivory and ebony. But of course, there is the sound, and everything makes sense as the bizarre movements across these devices generate euphony. The drums, the bass reverberate like a heartbeat or a dance, the horns are mellifluous voices from another planet, the piano drops of heaven, guitar splashes of sunlight... maybe this is something occult after all.
It’s not perfect. As musicians came in and out, each group of performers would have moments of cacophony, individually trying to figure out how to play together, a set of independent limbs learning to walk then run together. But the cacophony would only last for a few moments before they’d find their groove, and the room would transform as they would jam together, and then seem to fight against each other for room for their solos. The tenor saxophonist’s frustration built as the alto sax player came in before him, and then the guitarist, but soon the saxes were playing a duet before breaking into their own solos.
As an audience member, it was seeing a realized dream of creative expression and iteration, an evolving collaboration that was the entire world for a moment. When the snares and the cymbals nestled between the notes of the bass line, when my foot wouldn’t stop tapping, when the alto saxophonist played his solo, I understood what the pious called providence. I did not live in that moment, I was a sound wave as much as a human, I was transfixed and awed, pulled into the flow state of a few strangers with magical instruments in their hands.
And then it was over. There was everything in one moment, and nothing the next. It was this moment, and many similar ones at concerts, at religious services, at festivals that make music seem like the most obvious thing on the planet. When you can feel like you transcend yourself and exist beyond the flesh for a moment, why would you not, and why wouldn’t you worship what the feeling gave you, give love to those who brought you there? The art is a connection with what exists beyond what’s physically comprehensible.
This is what many artists aim for: creating transcendent moments in the act of creating and the act of consuming, honing the ability to summon these things repeatedly by working tirelessly to improve craft. Sitting with the awe, days later back in San Francisco, all I can think about is how much I’d like to be more like those musicians and how much more I want to be able to make in my own work. To find my own sort of magic.
We must do what we can to push back against the genocide in Gaza, especially as the government attempts to silence us. Consider calling your US representatives to support de-escalation and a ceasefire, donating to Care for Gaza, a grassroots organization delivering food to Palestinians, buying e-SIMs to keep folks connected to their families, donating to funds to help families escape.
💧 Drops of the Week 💧
PLAYLIST - Pause cafe - went to a cafe with great music, and I think this playlist has some of the songs they were playing
POEM - “Listen,” by Barbara Crooker - I want to tell you your life is a blue coal, a slice / of orange in the mouth, cut hay in the nostrils.