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Sun, 23 Aug 2009
— for Georgia Death is time mixed with eternity death counts Georgia Carr, May 4, 1947 - August 22, 2009 ] Tue, 06 Jan 2009
books and movies while recovering
I had a rotator-cuff repair on November 19. I thought I would read lots of books and transcribe music while recovering. Wrong. It was just too uncomfortable to do anything but watch movies. Here’s a partial list of of the few books I (re)read and the many movies I watched, particularly the last two weeks of the year when I was off work. I didn’t really “pick” the movies—I just selected them from what was on cable (with no commericials) at a particular hour. A note on the rating system (* to *****, * being lowest): these are not objective ratings. They are completely relative to what interests me or strikes me in some way. A ’*’ definitely means uninteresting. But a ’**’ can mean it’s good but not particurlarly compelling to me. Note, nothing received a 5-star rating in what follows - in other words, nothing really knocked me out (maybe because I was in pain). But I did find a number of 4-stars, some of which I had read or seen before and enjoyed the second time around too. books
movies
Hi Grandpa. I just arrived. It was a rough time for me but my Mom was
great and did a wonderful job of bringing me into the world. I weigh 7
pounds 1 ounce and am super healthy. I can't wait to meet you. Here
are some pictures my Dad took when he first meet me a couple of hours
ago. I hope you like them and he said to call tomorrow when you get
some time.
From Jasmine the next day:
Hello Everyone. Yesterday was the big day. Bruce and I arrived at
the hospital at 5 a.m. on Friday and spent the day in labor. Gwyneth
made her way into the world at 4:55 pm. Not too bad of a day. She
weighed in at 7 pounds 1 ounce and she is nearly 20 inches long at 19
3/4. Our new little family is doing well as we actually got some sleep
during last night. We should be leaving the hospital first thing
Sunday morning.
Phillip, Kate and me at peace rally
John, Geoff and me - final summer gig at Green Street
Geoff, Joe and I play at Bukowski CD release party
These photos taken by Flavia:
These photos taken by Sherm Clow:
Thursday, Friday Flavia and I spent March 15-21 in Buenos Aires. Here's are "trip report." crossing the Andes On the bus from the airport to our hotel we see posters for an International Jazz Festival at Ateneo starting on Sunday. Unfortunately, the two artists I’d want to hear the most, Gonzalo Rubalcaba and Eddie Gmez happen on the days after our scheduled return. But I planned to hear Jacques Morelenbaum Cello Zamba Trio on Monday and Terence Blanchard Quintet on Tuesday, but Tango took over. Flavia’s nephew, Ulises, and his wife, Jorgelina, met us at our hotel (the Columbia Palace) to tell us the hotel lost our reservation. But Ulises and Jorgelina were able to get us a room at their hotel, the Hotel A&B International. The only room available the first night was a real hellhole that smelled of mildew and had a combined shower sink toliet room, a bed and a window to the hallway. The next day we were able to upgrade to a very nice room (number 108) for 185 pesos/night (about $65 US). The owner, Virginia, was very helpful. Ask for her if you stay there. The hotel is located at Montevideo 248 (a block away from Corrientes Avenue, 5 blocks from the obelisk. We spent Thursday and Friday walking around the city seeing sites and being bitten by mosquitoes. There are 120 cases of dengue in Buenos Aires, ostensibly in people who were bitten by mosquitoes in Uruguay while traveling. Ulises and Jorgelina introduced us to a great restaurant they discovered: Chiquilin. This place is great! We tried eating other places, but we always ended up back here for dinner. The food and service were just oo good to miss. It was here I discovered chimichurri under Ulises guidance—a sauce that ranks up there with Chileno pebre for me. Criolla is another typical sauce, but I got stuck on chimichurri. (By-the-way, in Argentina, “ll” is pronounced “ss”, so criolla is pronounced CREE-OH-SHA - instead of CREE-OH-YA). Our feasts generally totalled to 220 pesos, or about $70+ bucks - what a deal. I maybe drink 2 glasses of wine a month at the most, but I drank 3 to 4 glasses of wine each night with dinner (which always started at 11pm) and felt completely fine the next day. Maybe it was the great Argentinian malbec. My favorite was Finca La Linda Malbec. But other malbecs, Nieto Senetinner, Trumpeter, Alamos (Catena Zapata), were also great. I think I have found another wine to drink (besides my standard Rosenblum Zinfandel). Ulises is completing a Ph.D., in Computer Science at Aberdeen in Scotland, writing his thesis on search, specializing in librarianship and query construction. That got us to talking about hard to understand phrases. He pointed out the Scots phrase “fit fit fits fit fit”—meaning “which shoe fits which foot?” Try getting a computer to parse that with general rules! (For more of these see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_homophonous_phrases.) Saturday On Saturday Puvan, a friend of Ulises and Jorgelina, from Malaysia, living in Aberdeen, met up with us. He, Ulises and I went to El Ateneo bookstore located in the previous “The Grand Spledid” theatre (as much as I love bookstore, it’s a shame this is still not functioning as a theater). An English language teacher with many of her adolescent students approached me in the bookstore to ask if I would speak in English with them, which I did for about 30 minutes. I happened to be sitting on the floor at the time they approached me (to more easily check out the bottom shelves in the poetry section). I stayed on the floor the whole time while they talked down to me. It was a large circle standing around me. Others started joining too, to see what the action was all about—they thought I was someone famous! I purchased a Spanish language editions of Csar Vallejo’s Nmina de Huesos y Otros Poemas and Ral Gonzlez Tun’s Demanda contra el olvido. I “read” these at night in the hotel, remembering reading Clayton Eshleman’s translation of Vallejo as Payroll of Bones. Later we joined up with Jorgelina and Flavia and went on a bus tour around the city. I would not recommend it since you spend too much time in traffic (maybe on a Sunday - if it runs - but on Sunday you want to be elsewhere—see below). On the tour the woman guide spoke in Spanish and English. She said “si” continuously like many people use “a” as a filler. When she did the English version of her guiding she said “yes”. It got to be pretty humorous. Less humorous was the many many time she pointed out the Hotel Hilton from all angles - who cares! When the tour stopped at Plaza de Mayo our guide neglected to mention the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo (not unlike the guides at Neruda’s Isla Negra home—now a museum—neglected to mention any connection between his death on September 23, 1973 and the coup in Chile on September 11, 1973). The best part of the tour was the stop at Caminito in the poor barrio of La Boca. The best artisans I saw while in Argentina were here (I bought a leather purse for my daughter Jasmine). This is the first place I saw dancers dancing tango in the street for tips (like musicians who play for tips). Our guide was helpful in pointing out that the Rio de la Plata is the most polluted river in the world (it supplies Buenos Aires with its drinking water, which I did drink from the tap at the hotel). On Satursday night we had great seats ($25 US) for Tanguera at the Teatro Nacional of Buenos Aires—a musical with no words, describes the history tango dancing from its beginning with European immigrants, through brothels to the modern stage. It featured Tango legend Maria Nieves. Very good show except for the canned music. After the show we went to Chiquilin for dinner starting at 11pm. Sunday On Sunday we took a taxi back to Caminito to shop at the artisan booths in la feria and have lunch while watching the tango dancers on the street. At lunch, the first tango couple were fun to watch on the sidewalk while having lunch. They were followed by a cheesey tango singer, Gerardo Peyrano. Flavia purchased on of his CDs for her mom (but her mom, who has taste, did not like it). Worse, while doing the CD transaction he stood at our table, blocking my view of the next couple dancing tango, who, for us, turned out to have the most striking woman dancer we saw while in Argentina. After Caminito we went to San Telmo where they close one of the street’s on Sunday. It is here that we finally heard live tango music (as well as other music and more street dancers). One of the tango bands, Orquesta Tpica Imperial, had a violinist who played left-handed—never saw that before. The same “walking in the wind” statue people we saw in Valparaiso last year were on the street in San Telmo. We then went back to our hotel to freshen up before walking to a theater on Corrientes to see the musical Drcula, Jorgelina’s favorite (and in which she sang in 3 different productions in school). I didn’t understand the words, but, with the Spanish speakers help, I was able to get the story. The live orchestra was a pleasure to hear—reminded me of my days in the Pioneer Memorial Theater pit. After the show we tried to eat somewhere else but ended up back at Chiquilin for dinner starting at 11pm. Monday Monday was a shopping day. At an exchange rate of about 3 pesos to the dollar, you can’t pass it up. In the evening, Puvan and I were going to go see Jacques Morelenbaum at the jazz festival but broken ticket machines had us having dinner with everyone at Cafe Tortoni, the oldest coffee shop in Argentina. Once there we discovered they had two different live tango shows (with live music) going on simultaneously—one in the basement and one in a room to the side of the main floor. We were able to get tickets for the basement show. It was a variety of comedy, tango, and music performance. The second half of the show after intermission started with two men playing bombos. Next they performed with boleadoras—kind of like tap dancing but with the added rhythm and skill of the sound and site of the bolas. The live band consisted of acoustic bass, baby grand piano and bandonen. The bass uses the bow more than pizzacato in this music. After the show, while people were leaving, I went up to the edge of the stage and, with Flavia’s help, talked to the bass player, to let him know I liked his playing and to ask for the names of good modern jazz clubs. He said he didn’t know but that the piano player was a jazz maestro, and brought him into the chat. The piano player, Juan Johermida (juanjohermidapianohotmail.com) recommended Notorious. He also said that there used to be more jazz clubs but they have been closing. He asked if I played and when I said yes he immediately invited me to play a tune with him. He suggested Victor Young’s “Beautiful Love,” which I don’t know, so I countered with Dizzy Gillespie’s “A Night In Tunesia.” He didn’t say another word. He just sat down at the piano and started vamping the intro (well and with good time) before the bassist even offered me his bass. I started playing the great Tunesia bass line but immediately had to adjust - the strings were too high, the endpin too low, and the end of the fingerboard was covered in rosin so my fingers were sticking together. So I implied the bass line. But it sounded good on the bass player’s fat bass. We made it through the head then he indicated for me to solo. I was only about 16 bars into a solo when the stage manager made us quit so they could start the next show. But it seems I have made a new musician friend. He’s leaving in a few days to play in Alaska. If I come to Argentina again, you can bet I’ll look him up. After the show we walked back to Chiquilin for another late dinner. We’re regulars now. They treated us great the first time—but now it’s even better, with waiters that served us the night before coming to shake our hands and help, even though we are not in their section. Tuesday On Tuesday Jorgelina, Ulises and Puvan checked out. We accompanied them to the bus station to say goodbye as they head to Rosario (Ulises and Jorgelina’s home town) where they will be attending a wedding. Then Flavia and I took a train to Tigre, a city on the delta of the Paran river. Once in Tigre we went on a 2 hour rio tur. The leisurely boat cruise was a nice change of pace after hectic Buenos Aires. After the cruise Flavia explored the casino while I walked in the middle of town and had a bite to eat. We took the train back to Argentina, rested for a hour, then went back to Cafe Tortoni for dinner and a last tango show (with live music). Wednesday On Wednesday we got up late, ate then checked out of the hotel. We still had several hours left. At first we split up, me heading to bookstores and Flavia to shoestores. I went to Kel, an English language bookstore. The store was packed—2 long lines, one with numbered tickets to pick up special orders, the other to pay. I hoped to find contemporary Argentinian writers translated into English (hopefully with facing Spanish). Unfortunately all they had was Borges. I did end up by Latin American Stories edited by Carlos Fuentes and Julio Ortega—a collection of short stories from Spanish authors (and about 4 Argentinos). The little I read so far suggests the translations are hasty (misspelling, incorrect punctuation, awkward feeling). I also spent some time sitting in a plaza, writing a poem and watching the dog walkers. on our walk the trees Flavia and I hooked up for lunch at, you guessed it, Chiquilin. After lunch we went to a music instrument store where she played an incredibly inexpensive ($300 US) electric violin while I played an acoustic bass guitar. We ended up buying the violin. And that was it. A 40 minute ride to the airport. 2.5 hours of airport hassle (and we needed every minute of it), a 2 hour flight to Santiago, a 2 hour drive to Reaca (via Quilpue to pick up my bass) and our apartment in Cochoa. Exhausted but happy. Here’s a link to all the pictures we took in Argentina. The only thing I had hoped to do (besides the jazz clubs and festival) was go to listen and buy some CDs of artists recommended by Ulises. For the record, here are his recommendations (for next time):
John Flanders, Geoff Miller, Harold Carr recording
On Feb 2, 2007 John Flanders (tenor and soprano sax), Geoff Miller (guitar) and myself (bass) recorded at Jo-Ann Wong's beautiful home. Sherm Clow did the engineering. Here are some tracks and pictures from the session. I'll add more in the future.
Saturday, January 27, 2007 — upright locked position I am
Sunday, January 28, 2007 — morning in bed
Sunday, January 28, 2007 — coal white light
Sunday, January 28, 2007 — photo facing a forest
Sunday, January 28, 2007 — sounds from cole bare where stare there air
Sunday, January 28, 2007 — white train on its rail smoothly
Sunday, January 28, 2007 — bass seller From Wilhelm: Michael Olivola (and his wife).
Sunday, January 28, 2007 — music at Andrew’s Sunday morning lying around reading while Flavia and Venus laugh in the front room and Chiara makes a great breakfast. We drive to Napa and tour Copia. Then we have a light dinner at a deli in downtown Napa before splitting up—me to Andrew’s in Oakland to play music—them back to Sonoma to have dinner with Venus’ family (Flavia’s ex). I arrive in Oakland after an hour drive. Andrew and I hug and head upstairs to his studio where I get out my bass that is stored at his house. I was planning on selling it, but the minute I took it out of its case I changed my mind—the wood is too beautiful. I warm up while Andrew sets up his recording gear and saxophones and flutes. A bit later Debra Craig (drums) and Terry Rolerie (guitar) arrive. We improvise then take a dark chocolate, blood orange and cake break. Then improvise again. Terry is a very quiet electric guitar player (and avid bike rider) and Debra is a sensitive drummer. Lucky for me—I played without an amp. Driving home I found a station with some great solo piano—kind of an update minimilist Eric Satie. The show was Heart of Space playing Hans Otte’s The Book of Sounds. I just caught the tailend at 10:50pm. PT. At that time it was just single piano notes, one after another, no chords. But the choice of intervals and sequence were beautiful. I’ve gotta get that work.
Monday, January 29, 2007 — her body where she lives
Monday, January 29, 2007 — Chilean Embassey San Francisco We said goodbye to Venus and Chiara and drove to San Francisco. Flavia had an appointment at the Chilean Embassey to get her passport renewed. While she took care of her business I went to Rasputin Music and picked up some CDs. In particular, one I’ve been looking for: Thelonius’ Monk’s Greatest Hits. The exact versions of the tunes on this CD made me realize just how much Monk was a percussionist (in a different way from McCoy Tyner). I want to transcribe some of his approaches to his melodies and solos and arrange them for bass. Then I went a block away to Cody’s (the San Francisco branch - unfortunately the Berkeley branch closed down recently) and picked up Craig Dworkin’s Strand (I figured I should learn a little about the author’s work who lives and works so close by). Flavia and I then hooked up and drove to Berkeley and had lunch at La Note on Shattuck. After lunch we walked a few doors down to Pegasus Books where I picked up Bob Perelman’s iflife. We drove to the airport (several hours early for a change) and enjoyed reading all our new books waiting for the plane and flying back to Salt Lake. Sat, 09 Sep 2006
poetry at Sanders
painting, performance, party, porch, picnic
On Friday we went to Michael Lucarelli's art opening "lyrical meditations, " followed by attending the John Flander's and Double Helix concert at Westminster (the inaugural performance for the series that we will play with Red Rock Rondo in May 2006). After the concert we went to Michael and Shayla's birthday party. The next morning we spent the morning on the porch and in the garden, followed by a hike to Dog Lake from MillCreek Canyon with Phillip and Charlotte. defined horizon 1
The UK Terror plot: what's really going on?
I have been reading very carefully through all the Sunday newspapers to try and analyse the truth from all the scores of pages claiming to detail the so-called bomb plot. Unlike the great herd of so-called security experts doing the media analysis, I have the advantage of having had the very highest security clearances myself, having done a huge amount of professional intelligence analysis, and having been inside the spin machine. So this, I believe, is the true story. None of the alleged terrorists had made a bomb. None had bought a plane ticket. Many did not even have passports, which given the efficiency of the UK Passport Agency would mean they couldn't be a plane bomber for quite some time. Mon, 14 Aug 2006
Flavia, Harold and Coco "in Utah this week"
On July 21, 2006 Kim Burgess interviewed us for an article on our home that appeared in the August 3, 2006 issue of "in Utah this week" magazine. The original online edition of the article (different from the print edition) can be found here. (The following is a stripped down copy of the online version---which is different from the print edition---in case the original link disappears.) HAPPY COINCIDENCE GUIDES COUPLE TO DREAM HOME Home Tour by Kim Burgess Synchronicity is not only the name of a great Police song, but a real-life experience that sometimes guides people to exactly what they need.
If you don't believe me, ask Harold Carr and Flavia Cervino-Wood. Two
years ago, the couple were looking to expand from a 980 square-foot
house to something bigger. They searched Emigration Canyon, but
decided they were too far from nightlife and high-speed
Internet. Luckily, the moon was in the seventh house and Jupiter
aligned with Mars. On a casual drive, Cervino-Wood spotted a lovely old bungalow and was immediately drawn to it. Ironically, it was the same home that Carr had admired for years on bike rides. "I would look up and see the porch and think that it looked great," Carr said. more ... Fri, 11 Aug 2006
Red Rock Rondo recording at Herc's
We, Red Rock Rondo, did a test recording at Herc's today. Unfortunately, some band members had allergic reactions to Herc's dog, so, no matter how the recording turns out, looks like we won't be doing more here.
Milton Voigt, March 19, 1924 - July 29, 2006
Milton Voigt died July 29, 2006 in Salt Lake City of causes incident to age. He was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in 1924 to Ester Bartelt and Arthur William Voigt. In World War II he was a navigator-bombardier in the U.S. Army Air Corps. He attended The University of Wisconsin—Madison (Ph.B., 1948), The University of California—Berkeley (M.A., 1950) and The University of Minnesota (Ph.D., 1960). He taught at The University of Idaho and The University of Kentucky before coming to The University of Utah in 1960, where he taught English literature and History of Ideas for 32 years and served as Dean of the College of Letters and Sciences (until its division into separate colleges in 1970) and as Chairman of the Department of English (1971 to 1975). He was the author of one book Swift and The Twentieth Century (1964) and other studies of the eighteenth century satirist, Jonathan Swift. He married Leta Jean Slack in 1947, with whom he had three sons, John Gregory (Northport, FL), James Lewis (Kalamazoo, MI) and Andrew Charles (Oakland, CA). He is survived by his sons and six grandchildren, Nicholas (Madison, WI), John and Zachery (St. Louis), Janna, Jesse and Evan (Kalamazoo) and by daughters-in-law Rebecca (Kalamazoo) and Lisette (Northport), by sister, Beatrice Manskee (Milwaukee) and special friend, Beth Burdett (Salt Lake City). He was a lay reader at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, and served on the boards of several organizations including The Utah ACLU, The Salt Lake Chamber Music Society, and The Friends of the Children’s Center. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to The Salt Lake Chamber Music Society, P.O. Box 58825, SLC, UT 84158-0825. A memorial will be held on Friday, August 4, 6pm - 8pm at Fort Douglas Post Chapel, 120 South Ft Douglas Blvd (around 2100 east). Friends and family will also gather at his home at 1376 East Princeton Avenue (1290 South), Salt Lake City after the memorial. Condolences may be sent to miltonvoigt@gmail.com death & rain Ten (Possible) Reasons for the Sadness of ThoughtMy brother-in-law, Guillermo Antonio Cervio-Wood, recommended George Steiner’s Ten (Possible) Reasons for the Sadness of Thought. I found his essay of that title (originally published in Salmagundi) here and here. I can’t say I like Steiner’s writing. It seems unnecessarily convoluted. Plus, all his points were made earlier by Bataille and Bataille’s writing is much better, even in English translation. He even uses some of Bataille’s phrases (e.g., “sadness unto death,” “laid bare”). But I did take the time to read and summarize the article.
the 4th of July men
for/by Phillip Bimstein
Hiking the House Range with Phillip
I "Letting this indifferent difference come to presence." ---Maurice Blanchot, Awaiting Oblivion
No sentences make the mountain. Only sweat. Or windy silence.
Today, no movement, nor waiting. Instead, open to rock,
A kind of forgetting to get there---not to be practiced
Closer at hand, Notch south, Swasey north,
Jets pass overhead. Their absence signifies unknown news.
At night, our galaxy rising like clouds over the east horizon.
A coincidence between place & attention. Again, back
Blooming yarrow whose stalks portend the beginning of an
Vast is a word. Empty another. An emptiness filled with
Clouds & contrails break the blue. Jets "Keeping watch over that which is not watched over." ---Maurice Blanchot, Awaiting Oblivion
The difference between memory & mountain. The temperature
The attraction of expanse---a kind of gravity
The portion of space causing time to reappear---suspended
Four fragments further along a future far from here---a place
Slowly the desert disappears
Morning---Venus---moon. blue haiku performed Phillip's new piece lockdown at the Genesis Youth Corrections Facility at the prison complex at the point-of-the-mountain.
Alex Caldiero, Flavia, Harold at Frank McEntire opening
Flavia and I performed with sonosopher Alex Caldiero at the David Ericson Fine Art Gallery for the opening of Frank McEntire's "Small Acts of Devotion."
Flavia and I just returned from Paonia, Colorado where I did a poetry performance at The Dreamtime Festival. Art Goodtimes, poet, county commissioner, founder of "Talking Gourds", invited me to participate. I was lucky and got assigned Saturday night at midnight, the height of the festival, right between the two main bands: Kan'Nal and Hamsa Lila.
Last weekend Julian, Flavia and I were in California to attend and celebrate Venus and Chiara's graduation from UC Berkeley. While hanging out in the house we rented on Warm Springs Road between Glen Ellen and Kenwood, Flavia brought me a copy of Jose Ortega y Gasset's The Origins of Philosophy from the home's bookshelves, knowing I'm drawn to books like that. In it, he writes that when we read the words of poets, or philosophers, we recognize our own thoughts---they have simply taken the time to write them down and perhaps organize them. The day before the graduation ceremony, the day we arrived, Flavia and Venus went off to Trader Joe's to pick up food and drink for the party, while I walked up to the bookstores on Telegraph Avenue, only three blocks from Venus and Chiara's apartment. In Cody's I picked up three books on Cognitive Science, my latest obsession. On the way to the register they had a prominent but low-key display of the talk poet, David Antin's, just published i never knew what time it was. I've always admired his ability to just stand up and talk and be interesting, casual and honest. While paying for the books the cashier asked me, "don't you want him to sign your book"? Turns out that's what the display was about---he was giving a talk that night, in fact right then. I went upstairs to the talk space and saw about 14 people waiting, the small number surprised me. Unfortunately David Antin was not there yet and I couldn't stay---we were scheduled to drive into San Francisco to meet Chiara and her parents and sister for dinner. This morning, reading his book, he says what he is doing is "entertaining ideas not people." In one comic section he talks about mouse traps being a logical machine embodying a single truth: desire leads to death. But a fastidious mouse may not press the lever, thus another truth: manners are a life and death matter. Or a clumsy mouse might jostle the base setting it off without even entering it: god looks out for fools. The talk continues with his distinction between story and narrative. "A story is a logical form: a representation of a series of events that result in a significant transformation. A narrative is a representation of the confrontation of somebody who wants something with a threat and/or promise of a transformation that he or she struggles to bring about or prevent or both. "Why struggle for/against transformation? The answer may lie close to the anxiety produced by the paradox that however much we are tempted by transformation we may lose ourselves in that transformation. Or maybe it lies closer to the terror of absolute erosion --- it's the loss of the self that we are struggling against. Noise --- the growing disorder that affects all ordered systems over time. The frictional forces that reduce all directed energies to forms of disorder given enough time "Time does strange things to you. It's a bit like the ocean. Mostly is takes things away but it also casts things up on the beach. New things or old ones from different places, now looking very different. Every bit of disorder contributes to the formation of a new order, usually worse but sometimes better. "You lose a lot and you may win a few. Maybe in the end you lose it all, but meanwhile some disorder may be good for you even if you don't know it." Now, done reading for the moment, having come downstairs for breakfast, I help Tika to stand up so she can go outside. And that's the sad connection of this narrative---she has a hard time getting up on her own. Upon returning from California we noticed her limping when taking her and Suni for their favorite walk to city creek. We took Tika to the vet on Saturday (we had to reschedule our original Thursday/Friday appointments because we both had a strange late-Spring flu). We expected the vet to say she is having a problem with her leg related to her Tibea Plateau Leveling Osteotomy she had two years ago. But not so lucky. He took x-rays. Tika has cancer in her leg that is so severe it is most likely in her internal organs also. It's advance too far to do anything. And, at her age, 13 1/2 years, it would be difficult, even if possible. So we have her at home, loving her, celebrating our life with her, dreading the upcoming decline. The vet gives her one month to live. Sat, 23 Apr 2005
Another Language/Worden Collage
Last weekend we attended the opening of the Adam Worden collage exhibit at the Salt Lake Art Center. Alex Caldiero performed poems he composed to the images. Alex and the collages got me to thinking about the Interplay series by Another Language. They are creating real-time collaborative collages spanning art forms, space and time. I've taken the liberty to mix images from Interplay and Worden to give some idea of how they are in the same vein. However, the Interplay images are only snapshots of a moving moment instead of a finished image like Worden's. Worden worked alone, collecting bits-n-pieces and putting them together to form a finished work. Another Language works in real-time with musicians, actors, dancers, poets and technicians all over the world to form multiple audio-visual streams. A viewer can choose to look at a particular stream or even watch one of the live performances in their location. With Worden we have a solitary viewer looking at a single image containing multiple perspectives and material created by a solitary artist. With Another Language we have an audience choosing their stream, each stream made up of the real-time creation of multiple people/places/forms. With Worden we have pieces of art we can contemplate. With Another Language we have images and recordings of the streams, but the piece is essentially "lost" once the performance is over.
Craig Crowther Poetry/Music Tribute
Tonight we honored our friend Craig Crowther with music and poetry.
A great number of Craig's river buddies were there, as well as most of his family. We all hung out and enjoyed each other's company. Here are some photos. Update: The night of the tribute I dreamed of Craig. Very simple. He was sitting on a couch smiling at me, singing a song.
The movement from a view of life as essentially simple and orderly to a view of life as complex and ironic is what every individual passes through in becoming mature. ... Amid simplicity and order rationalism is born, but rationalism proves inadequate in any period of upheaval. Then equilibrium must be created out of opposites. Such inner peace as [we] gain must represent a tension among contradictions... A feeling for [dramatic] paradox allows seemingly dissimilar things to exists side by side, their very incongruity suggesting a kind of truth. Robert Venturi quoting August Heckscher We are surrounded by life but everything dies - thus the irony. We ourselves are alive and seem to escape death like Odysseus under the ram, but our family, friends and we ourselves, die - thus the tragic sense of life. The trick is to turn this tragic sense into a source of joy and wonder. Into the infinite now.
Flavia and I returned from San Francisco last night. I was there all last week at the Sun Engineering Conference. Flavia arrived on Friday. On Saturday night Flavia and I, along with Venus and Chiara, went to concluding Other Minds concert. It started with Charles Amirkhanian interviewing the composers. The first piece performed was John Luther Adams' Selections from Strange and Sacred Noise. It started with four percussionists each playing a small tom-tom. Two of the percussionists were on the stage, the other two in the balcony. Unfortunately for us, we were also in the balcony above them. So we heard all the sound below us. I imagine it would have been great to be on the main floor and hear some sound from the stage and some from above your head. The percussionists switched to gongs. That was my favorite part. It was a treat to hear such sustained whooshing sounds and overtones for an extended period. Next the percussionists all gathered together on stage to play four xylophones. This is were I feel asleep. But, for me, falling asleep is not necessarily a sign of a boring work. This time it was a sign of satisfaction of the preceding gong work. I took a break during the xylophones. Adams' piece ended with all percussionists playing very large bass drums. Once again, a joy to hear something not readily accessible. The next piece was Evan Ziporyn's Melody Competition. This was a pentatonic "festival" pitting two teams of percussionists against each other - moving between stages of togetherness and separation. The evening ended with Billy Bang's Selections from the Vietnam Trilogy. I haven't attended Other Minds for many years now so I was surprised to hear a more traditional mostly modal jazz band play. I wondered how the audience would react. My question was answered with loud applauses after solos. It was interesting to see, in the same evening, the contrast in performers stage presence - from the formal, somewhat self-effacing manner of the more "classical" performances of Adams and Ziporyn, to the loose, walk-around-the-stage, get-down style of Billy Bang. Ultimately I prefer the Bang approach, although I did think his body motion was a bit insensitive during the solo piano piece. This was the first Other Minds (or any "alternative" music concert) I've been to where I liked all the pieces. Our blue haiku partner, Phillip Bimstein, was in San Francisco too, explicitly to attend the entire Other Minds festival. Thanks to him we went to the after-the-concert party at film maker Henry Rosenthal's converted warehouse house. His house is 5 floors of fantasy. Kind of a bizarre museum/playhouse around Stevenson and 6th street (a dangerous neighborhood). We walked from the Yerba Buena center to the party, meeting and talking with Tom Steenland, of Starkland records and Stephanie Nugent, a dancer on the faculty of UC Santa Barbara who danced with Ririe-Woodbury in Salt Lake for several years in the early 90s. At the Rosenthal house we were met at the entrance by young punks - literally - some nice young people with great hairstyles and clothes. They escorted to the freight elevator and up to the 5th floor. On the way up you get a peek of each floor as you pass it - a wild menagerie of shells, tools, skulls, bugs, flying toasters and more. The main party took place on the top floor - great food, drink, desert with original Warhol and Lichtenstein on the walls. After eating and chatting amounst ourselves and others we wandered the building a bit - running into baseballs signed by Babe Ruth, James Brown's desk, two-headed stuffed animals and a 58 Pontiac next to the billiards table. A fascinating home. I spoke briefly with Charles Amirkhanian, the Other Minds director. We reminisced about the time Jimmy Miklavcic and I "performed" with I Wayan Sandra at Composer-to-Composer in Telluride, Colorado. Charles seems to be aging well. He seems distinguished and accessible. I watched him relax around the party. He did not seem to stick with the "important" people there. Instead, he made his way around the home and seemed to be open to all. Who knows, but he did seem relaxed. Tue, 15 Feb 2005From my home office overlooking the valley I see the sun well. It's moving very fast - each day setting further north. Snow on the ground. More on the way. But it won't last long. Sun's quicker than snow this time of year. Sun, 13 Feb 2005... and finally, approaching the present, honoring this moment, honoring this small being becoming the future, teaching us to see what is right before our eyes while we guide him around the sharp edges. Here, today, let us simply say, good luck and strong bones. Each of us can see their past unfolding here in him. Each of us can help the future unfold with a grin - with a hand held out to him so easy to smile - to laugh. That's a good place to be silent now - laughing together. Fri, 04 Feb 2005
Julian Carr in US Freeskiing Competition Day One at Snowbird
Today, my son, Julian Carr had a great time competing in day one of the US Freeskiing world tour competition at Snowbird on the strength of his 10th place finish yesterday. He came in 45th and the cutoff is 35 so he's out. His friend Tyler Knoles is also out. But Julian is looking forward to going up to the competition tomorrow to cheer his friend Parker Cook who made the cut. Yesterday he came in 10th in the qualifier. His friends Parker Cook and Tyler Knoles also qualified. Here are the results, the qualifier on the left and day one on the right:
A movement towards light, towards clear liquid sound. Only blinding sun on sand, an ocean of silicon, could produce a memory reaching back to the continent's edge. That line where earth meets water. Where two worlds seemingly so strange that only the thought of a sleepless night alone on a hillside covered with sage brings the beast to meet the man. Clocks tell the story. Over and over while walking, endlessly walking in dry desert heat over shifting trails that disappear after each footstep. It's hard to say which part of the tale is memory and which part is wish. Each step a breath, beat, pulse, a ripple on the surface of skin so transparent that history and hope merge in a dance of falling leaves. Red and gold. Lips and kisses. Promises worth waiting for but impossible to see, to know. Still, continuing seems to be the only desirable action. So, standing at the wall, book in hand, moving quietly over flagstones towards that moment when everything lost is found, is set out in a row stretching out over the horizon, begging to be followed, pleading to be understood. And somehow it all becomes clear, completely clear just as the sun sets, leaving everything covered in a fine dust. Never to be touched. Never to be missed. Never to be seen again. Is there some way to ... (text for the film - "And Now Ladies and Gentlemen") Wed, 26 Jan 2005
Harold Carr and Alex Caldiero at Cabaret Voltage at Urban Lounge
Last night, Alex Caldiero and I performed together for the first time. We have read on the same bill together twice in the past (once at City Art at Mt Tabor Church, and another time at a private birthday party at the now defunct Green Street in Trolley Square) but this was the first time we performed together. Actually, that is not accurate. We also performed together in Intransitive Senses, the first installment in Another Language's Interplay series. We performed simultaneously but in different rooms, but close enough to kind of hear each other. That performance perhaps planted the seed for last night's performance. Last night we performed at Cabaret Voltage's spoken word series at Urban Lounge The evening was an mix of piano/vocals by Layna, visual works by John Bean, and poetry by Alex, Bryan Mehr and Christopher (one of the founders of Cabaret Voltage, along with Michael McLean). Playing bass with Alex was a challenge - how to complement and contrast his words and sounds without overwhelming them while at the same time having a unique, strong and slightly independent voice? We had discussed (for one minute just before performing) some simple queues but, of course, I was lost for the start and just played by instinct and sensitivity to the moment. Just from the audience response it seemed to work. When Bryan went on after Alex he asked me to play with him too. I played an entirely different style with Bryan, less "avant-garde", more straight ahead jazz. After Bryan's performance Christopher asked me if I could do a solo. I happily and graciously accepted. Perhaps this is the beginning of more collaborations with Alex. ... note: ironic to call "avant-garde" a style rather than a stance.
... is changing ... Tue, 25 Jan 2005A poet is someone who hears silence - and is changed by that sound. Sun, 16 Jan 2005Thank god I didn't find god when I went crazy. Sat, 15 Jan 2005
The Ritual of the Large and Small Bell
Two hand bells are placed in the center of a small, low-lying circular table. One bell, large and low. The other, small and high. When (and if) you feel like sharing and the large bell is in the center of the table you take hold of it, ring it, then move it to the edge of the table's circle nearest you. Then you share. While sharing, if another feels like commenting or responding to your share, the other takes hold of the small bell, rings it lightly one time, then moves it midway between the center and the edge of the table nearest them. When you feel like pausing your share for the midway bell response, you move the large bell midway between your edge and the table's center with a single ring. Then the other moves the small bell to their edge for a short share or dialog with you. When they are done the other moves the small bell back to the center of the table with a single ring. Then you move the large bell back to your edge with a single ring and resume sharing. When you are finished with your share, you take hold of the large bell, ring it, then move it back to the center. Now both bells are in the center and another may take hold of the large bell and begin their share. You may share anything you like: a dream; some text or music written by your or another; an painting or image; an idea; a memory; silence or song; improvise; acting, dance; ... Fri, 14 Jan 2005Sex is a problem in this country founded by Puritans, where, hundreds of years later, despite the evidence, monkey trials are still being fought in courts over creationism versus evolution. Sex is a problem for Puritans who live for the future, accumulating good deeds to ensure entry into that future. But sex, in its non-reproductive erotic form, is life lived in the moment. Even in its reproductive form, sex still contains an element of the instant, regardless of the future beings being formed. Different from animals, we are conscious beings, conscious with words of being distinct from each other and all that exists. We suffer anguish and guilt from that sense of separation and desire to be connected with the cosmos. For Puritans, that connection comes by subordinating themselves to God and the future. For others the anguish of separation and desire for connection is either repressed with drugs or tv, or embraced by way of meditation or wilderness. Regardless, the fundamental social conflict remains, between a focus on living for the future and an understanding of the moment - life lived in the instant. Sex is a threat to future-oriented beings since it seems to make us immanent with animals. It abolishes the hierarchy of time and the dominion of man over beast. It makes us one in the moment. Sex is a sacred act of connecting beings in a timeless now with no thought for the future. It is being connected and conscious without words - without God as an intermediary. But Puritans won't stand by idly if you remove God from the equation. Thus rating systems that equate sex and violence. Thus a country that erects barriers to sexual expression but uses it pervasively in advertising. The desire for connection is a fundamental human drive. Sex can be celebrated as sacred connection or denied, only to appear as love for sale in a car commercial. This social conflict is deep. It relates to the wilderness versus development debate. It is based on a fundamental difference in human values, one based on a future with God, the other with life on the Earth now. Is a dialog possible or will we stay divided, with one side running around naked in the wilderness while the other sits quietly in cathedrals? Fri, 07 Jan 2005Last night, to bed around 1am. Sleep until 10am. Read until noon. "Breakfast" and easing into the day until 1pm. Then leave the apartment at Edificio Los Rocas and walk north, people in the rocks and sand at the beach outside our door. Past the sea wolf sanctuary that today only has gulls and pelicans. Past the school of the sea with its saint. Past the structure jutting out on the beach that, last April, was a restaurant and is now under construction, to be a disco. Past Restaurant Pacifico where we ate last year - and our favorite empanada place this year - with the EuroMarina condos above where we stayed the first 2 nights but left since it was too small, too plastic and too cut off from the waves. Continuing, just past this point, to the mostly undeveloped section (except for some restaurants and squatter's shacks), the best part of the walk, above the cliffs, below the sand dunes. Today, I see, through the trees, a man at the door of his shack, washing his face, then sitting and combing his hair. I put the camera away for respect. Bringing it out again for the sea wolfs and a backwards shot of the high-rise development. Past the faces sculpt in the hillside just beyond the man selling his metal sculptures at the sea lion view point. Cliffs, rocks, sea, foam. Across the Pte Los Piqueros bridge over the chasm. On the mountain side of the bridge I play that game - imagining the 4 foot leap from the cement foundation across the abyss to the rail - so easy one would give it no thought but for the void. The void brings death to mind as do the shrines on the north side of the bridge, just before what I call "Neruda point" for his fish symbol placed on the furthest rock out to the sea. I stop to contemplate and have an aqua mineral gasificado. Small ships skim the horizon. Large freighters at anchor in the harbor. Gulls land on cliffs. Wave spray blows between rocks. Docks dive under foam. Seaweed swirling in tidal motion. Whirlpools wash under further waves. Churn and mix and never still but somehow silence comes to mind. Silence and sun heating the surface of my skin - the thin membrane making me - keeping my water and the waves distinct. I am the ocean, sun and moon. Sky's my mind. Fish my feet. Churn and mix and never still. Solitude the cost of these words. Words the sea gives me but can do without. There is no end, only continuing - walking in the infinite now. Each wave unique but no different from water. Shapes shifting in the unending sea. Coming closer to sea surge between rocks at land's end I imagine the violence it offers - but somehow the seaweed is still there hanging off the rocks - dripping after each pounding wave. Churn and mix and never still - exceeding all attempts to capture the continuing moment of life. Mon, 03 Jan 2005Today I spent the afternoon walking slowly to ConCon and back by myself, probably around 10 miles round trip. |
Syndication: Science and Technology: haroldcarr.net
Recent Pictures: 2007-12-07-08-Gwyneth 2007-12-11-Gwyneth 2007-12-17-Gwyneth 2007-12-19-Gwyneth 2007-12-20-22-Gwyneth 2007-12-24-25-Christmas-with-Gwyneth 2007-12-24-Gwyneth-and-Harold 2007-12-25-Julian-and-Gwyneth Xmas in Portland with Gwyneth
2007-12-14-Rubenshuis-Antwerp-Belgium Rubenshuis - Antwerp, Belgium
2007-12-11-12-Antwerp-Belgium Antwerp, Belgium
2007-12-07-08-Prague Prague's Museum of Communism (and Sun's office --- nice juxtaposition!)
2007-08-31-Bountiful-Peak-with-Suni Bountiful Peak with Suni
2007-06-24-07-01-Zurich-Rapperswil Zurich and RapperswilI presented at jazoon in Zurich
2007-04-29-red-rock-rondo-zion-park-laura-bush/ Red Rock Rondo (and Jasmine) in Zion Park (with Laura Bush)
Red Rock Rondo performed at the rededication of the nature center at Zion National Park. (Note: after we agreed to play we learned that Laura Bush would speak. Although we disagree with her husband's policies, the fact that she is spending a week with friends hiking in Zion Park is a good thing.) 2007-03-15-21-argentina buenos aires
1996-spring-CowdaddiesAtBarrySchollsWedding Cowdaddies in Torrey, UtahWhile rummaging about old photos I came across these pictures of the Cowdaddies playing in Torrey, Utah in the Spring 1996 at Barry Scholl's wedding.
1976 Inside/Outside Inside/OutsideAnother blast from the past. Sherm Clow sent me this picture of Inside/Outside, a group I was in back around 1976, featuring Merrill Clark, leader, composition and guitar; Brenda (Gibb) Vincent, violin; Divya Prem (Dan Gaard), drums; and me on electric and acoustic bass. I think this picture was for our performance at the Hansen Planetarium.
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