OUT OF CONTROL

I got back from Rochester (note to self - do not explore any more of the USA - NY is just fine) to find a significant amount of rubble on the kitchen floor, and a hole in the wall. The TH, despite having been here the whole time, had somehow failed to notice this. I really don't like the outdoors at the best of times, and particularly at this time of year, and now there is uncontrollable 'weather' in the kitchen.
I am presuming that this is a 'mistake' rather than the revised building 'Fire Safety Plan'....although the builders responsible for the hole clearly aren't particularly perturbed as they have disappeared. For two days now.

The doorbell rang at 7am this morning and the neighbour is delivering our current house guest, who she'd found asleep outside on the corridor floor. She hates anything 'messing up' the corridor, and given the fuss she makes about umbrellas being left there, I can see that the aftermath of finding a whole person on the doorstep is going to run and run. I use the term 'whole person' with caution, as this is the second time in 3 nights now that J has spectacularly failed to find his bed and what with jetting about, jetlag, jazz gigs and JB taking care of 23 hours out of every 24, I figure he can't have had more than one night's sleep in about the last 6 days.
He is nevertheless looking far better for it than I am.

I just knew it was going to get messy.

EST

A sad day.

I found myself quite by accident this afternoon watching Lee Siegel's fascinating talk about the internet and how it affects/has affected our lives and culture.
To take his comments slightly out of context (which of course he'd hate), what rang particularly true for me today was his description of the difference between 'commercial' culture and 'high' culture.
'Commercial culture is all about the gratification of self-interest and it involves the total engagement of your ego'.
Whereas with 'high' culture - 'At the heart of a successful work of Art, lies something fresh and other.' You are 'sprung from the daily pressures of self-interest and you lay yourself and your ego aside'.

I mention all this because I found out this morning that the Swedish pianist Esbjorn Svensson died on Saturday evening in a diving accident.
He was 44.
Quite apart from feeling the tragedy of someone dying so young and leaving behind a young family, I was surprised at how personally upset I felt. And I think the reason relates to Siegel's words.
I have been to hear the Esbjorn Svensson Trio perform maybe a dozen times, I met him a couple of times and I loved his music.
He was one of the rare performers I could go to hear where, no matter what was going on in my life, I could guarantee that I would be 'taken out of myself' and would literally 'lose' myself in his musical storytelling. A very welcome 'laying aside' of the ego. For whatever reason, this happens to me only occasionally these days - the odd amazing book and a small number of musical experiences. There is now one less and I feel that loss.

In a World where we are inundated with 'commercial' culture, his music reached out to touch a new younger audience for jazz, it was popular in the broadest sense, and yet retained the utmost artistic integrity.

He leaves us with an amazing collection of beautiful recorded work, but already I miss the anticipation of his next live performance, the promise of experiencing something 'other'.
Here is one of my favourite pieces - from gagarin's point of view.
RIP Esbjorn.

It’s been over 100 degrees here for days now. Obviously I’m not going out in that! So with so much Mozart work to do I’ve had to be quite creative in devising apartment-bound procrastination techniques. Having cleaned everything, deleted 543 emails, filed all my documents and got back in touch with everyone I vaguely remember on Friends Reunited.... I've now resorted to memes. Here’s a fantastic pointless waste of time. You set your itunes to ‘random’ then answer the following questions with whatever track comes up. No cheating. It’s uncanny!

What does next year have in store for me?
Seattle – Avishai Cohen

What’s my love life like?
He Thinks He’ll Keep Her – Mary Chapin Carpenter

What do I say when life gets hard?
It’s Crazy – Sarah Vaughan

What song should I have danced to at my wedding?
All the Things You are – Clare Foster (Clare actually sang at my wedding, so it’s entirely possible this happened..)

What do you want as a career?
1979 Semi-Finalist – Bad Plus

Famous last words?
Sweet Sorrow – Joshua Redman

Your favourite saying?
Interested – India Arie

Favourite place?
St Louis Blues – Gil Evans

What do you think of your parents?
I Worn My Elbows – Ivor Cutler

Where would you go on a first date?
What Was Going On – Steve Lawson

Describe yourself.
You are Driving Me Crazy – Chet Baker

What is the thing I like doing most?
Stuff Like That – Quincy Jones

What is my state of mind like at the moment?
Vicious World – Rufus Wainwright

How will I die?
Speed Of Light – Teenage Fanclub

BUMF

Today we received a document from our landlord entitled 'Fire Safety Plan'.

'Aha' I thought, 'finally they've noticed that our building is rather prone to spontaneous combustion....'

This is what it says:

Sprinkler System: No
Fire Alarm: No
Public Address System: No
Other Information: There is no access to any adjoining buildings from the roof level.

That is actually ALL it says, apart from mentioning that our exit is via the main lobby door, which after three years here I've just about got to grips with...

Hmmm. So where exactly is the 'safety' part, or indeed the 'plan'?

WORK IS THE CURSE OF THE DRINKING CLASSES

Paula in town a couple of weeks ago. Her presence tornado-like, sweeping up everyone around her and carrying them along in a whirlwind of spontaneous adventure and ...errrr ...champagne. You’ve got to love a girl you’ve never met before who hands you a book (a very beautiful book I might add) of photos of herself (mostly minus clothing), practically before she’s even said hello. We were introduced by a mutual friend, and clearly he has permission to introduce anyone to me from now on.

There haven’t been enough people in my life like this lately, but unfortunately they have all chosen to visit in the same month. I think I can say with some precision that I am unlikely to be sober again now until June 29th.

And so to the Marquis and Ben. The really terrible thing about house guests like these is that at some point they GO HOME. Who is leaving liquor chocolates on my pillow, making Vietnamese coffee and playing Chopin in the front room now huh? Not the TH....
Oh God I love these two. Serene and charming by day, witty and spirited at night.

All too soon their final evening, which began in a very civilized manner with drinks and chat on JB & Uptown Nigel’s roof deck. One of those totally perfect times with four of my favourite people in the World, who were all totally in love with each other from practically the moment they met. (Flashbacks to Commuter Jazz Friday gatherings.) It was hard to believe (certainly from my point of view) that the evening could possibly get any better than THIS.



But 6 hours and many drinks later, off we cabbed into the village night. Despite persistent denials from the Marquis, I remain convinced that he is keyholder of this entire city, as I have yet to enter a bar with him where everything is not ‘taken care of’ by some mysterious benefactor behind the scenes. And so it was at the first bar, where incidentally, even Brooke Shields hobbled over on her crutches to catch a glimpse of the glamorous Nola boys (although for some reason they thought it was the other way round). There was also a famous rock band at our table, apparently. But don’t ask who because by this point I could barely remember my own name.

2am or thereabouts and onto another bar. On the way I befriended one of our party – a lovely guy from New Orleans who looked like a sound engineer and was called Newark or Kennedy or perhaps some other airport? Oh wait, maybe it was a State? He’d just been auditioning for a ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ movie special and was clearly about 50 drinks behind us. He was one of several people that evening I think I invited to come and stay at some point...but probably the only time I meant it..

Everybody at the next bar had had at least as much to drink as us and it appeared that they had been waiting for our arrival all night. JB had a harem following him around from the moment he walked through the door and there was a pool game, of sorts, but very little of it was taking place on the pool table. Despite being (the only) female in a gay bar, even I got hit on. My hitter was cute as all hell and I was more than happy to spend an hour staring into his pretty eyes whilst he poured out his heart about having a girlfriend at home who had no idea that he was gay. I don’t think I invited him to stay too, but it’s not impossible....

Home finally at 0 dark thirty. The Marquis and I debrief at the kitchen table, and I brag about never getting to the point when I’ve drunk too much to talk. I am conscious that I am slurring the word ‘talk’. And the word ‘alcohol’ is impossible.

I hate it when they leave, but it’s fortuitous at least for Demidenko, who might not otherwise have had a piano for his performances in July....
Owen arrives next week for doubtless more of the same. And so it goes on....

But for now Shark is Working.
Please Do Not Disturb.