That common, shared space of muted, cosmic musical moments – like in the happenstance improvisation of these prayers (hymn-provisation) – where humans can grieve, heal, feel safe, find calm and create comfort. And the music becomes part of The Commons. With that, perseverance becomes pleasure. And in that moment of acceptance, you are surrendering to the only law that exists, the law of nature: change. Instead of treading water and holding your spot in the current, only letting go, giving up to the current, do you float. Or rather, control will not lead you there – to God. And by listening to that magnetic pull northwards, one finds God. More than improvisations, though, these pieces are like prayers or hymns: music that is for devotion to your true north. Two songs from the mountains, two songs from Brian’s broken piano in Wisconsin, and the rest improvised at NorthStar. As such, this album is a document of an event. Keys to old doors that led to old friends like Booker, Bruce, Randy, and Keith – all who came by to say, “Hi, we’ve missed you.” Cousin Brian Joseph muted and unmuted mics that he had set up around NorthStar, capturing the space, presence and conversation between these actors. They spoke about the past and the future, passing down stories through a surrendered Phil as he passed his fingers across the keys. That nave and that Steinway spoke together over those spring time afternoons. The sounds of the street bled through those brick walls. These ten pieces came to life on a long-cared-for and much-loved 100 year-old Steinway over three days at the church. Yet it was during hour-long stretches of improvisation in NorthStar Church of the Arts in Durham where the music could open up to the presence of divine intoxication. Circling this heartspace, Phil experimented with sanctuary in order to honor the ritual: he retreated alone to the mountains in North Carolina to write, sojourned to family abodes in Wisconsin to nurture. The liminal zone where life’s structures break apart and begin to reform: no longer, not yet. A ritual is like a boat that helps you make the passage between POINT A: everything that has come before, and POINT B: everything that will come after. And if you listen, those rituals bring transformation.įor change to happen, there must be a passage, a journey. Snakes, long the guardians of sacred spaces and stories, have always been getting themselves tangled up in some of our oldest rituals. Whatever that snake wanted, it got itself involved in the making of a record. As it slithered its way across the floor, Phil sat at a piano in the middle of the nave, recording an improvisation later titled “Queen Of Branches.” Before old wiggly could show his forked-tongue to Phil and cause a polka, the serpent was scooted out the backdoor without interrupting the day’s proceedings. As the songbird whistled from the willow, a snake wandered into the church.
0 kommentar(er)
