“He’s a sage, a musical holy man, the friend who consoles us when love falters or when we take the wrong path. He’s got a movement behind him, but he’s miles from any phony ideology. He’s simple, transparent, honest, a rebel…” —from Caetano Veloso, Walking into the Wind, nonfiction by Igiaba Scego, translated by Frederika . . .
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“From the drummer, take the cymbals, the crash, and hi-hatand walk like you’re shining. From the composer take “waterunder snow is wear,” sung by young voices in the timbreof wind blowing through the antlers of reindeer…”–from “What to Take” which appears in the Winter 2016 issue (Volume 57, Issue 4). Tell us . . .
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“Song is of a squeaky quality, with little or no repetition.It is a poor imitator.Song is a series of evry high, thin, separate, slurred notes.Call is slurred chewink.Song, drink-your-tea…”–from “Bird Song” which appears in the Winter 2016 issue (Volume 57, Issue 4). Tell us about one of the first pieces you’ve written When I . . .
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“The same week his father died, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart conducted a funeral for a starling he had purchased three years ealier in Vienna. Guests at the service wore solemn attire, and Mozart, then thirty-one, eulogized his pet as “not haughty, quite, but gay and bright.” “My heart,” he said, “aches when I . . .
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“Rhythm is the seed, the littlebody we planted in fear of the dark that rose to adornand outlive us. It crawled…” –from “Found Music” which appears in the Winter 2016 issue (Volume 57, Issue 4). Tell us about one of the first pieces you’ve written I was fortunate to have two teachers . . .
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“What little that’s rooted must arise.Like, who plants in cups except kids? Enter the forest. The forest will eat you,men in balaclavas who haven’t read Marx. And so on, including the starry skies.You’ve seen a sieve? Explosions unto mesh…“–from “Vegetables” which appears in the Fall 2016 issue (Volume 57, Issue 3). What . . .
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The earth too is a magic coach, my dear,look at the flocks of elves that pull itdown dark virgin forests of the universe,and a witch or two, it’s known, would like to diverge itinto a coy ditch, in a passionate embrace.—from “Mozart’s Magic Coach” which appears in the Winter 2016 issue (Volume . . .
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“The flute, the sackbut, the dulcimerin the rooms of the dying. The harp,the cornet, the psaltery. The look…”—from “Music from a Farther Room” which appears in the Winter 2016 issue (Volume 57, Issue 4). Tell us about one of the first pieces you’ve written I remember being twenty-one or twenty-two and writing . . .
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“these hands, their roughness if you tell me what to swallow, I’ll do it sheathed in ice, brittle as glassanother kind of groping in the dark a blue note fills the room climb on top, again and again…” —from “Goldberg Variations” which appears in the Winter 2016 issue (Volume 57, Issue 4). Tell . . .
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