Anodyne
Friday, March 18, 2005
 
More bricklaying, drawing equally on Geoff Dyer's terrific account of Mingus' life in But Beautiful, Mingus' autobiography, Beneath the Underdog, which I, unlike Dyer, found compulsively readable, the composer's notes to Blues and Roots, and Booker Ervin's searing solo on "Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting."

Blues and Roots


Mingus resting, fingers
gently curled around
his bass' neck. Eyes
closed, the photographer's
flash settling lightly on
his skin.


Strong fingers,
hands that,
clenched, punched
Jimmy Knepper in
the gut, then broke his
fucking jaw. The
incendiary bassist's
face tight with rage,
leaning in, almost
spitting, calling Sy
Johnson useless
white motherfucker.
And meaning it. Or
shouting, his strong
'voice cracking like a
whip over the backs
of horses.' Saying, Talk
about it. Talk about
it. Yah. Yah. Yah.


Or composed, in Knep-
per's courtroom, gesturing
as if still on stage. Saying,
Don't call me a jazz
musician. To me the
word 'jazz' means nig-
ger, discrimination, second-
class citizenship, the whole
back-of-the-bus bit. Knep-
per shrugging, embarassed
in the witness box, 'missing
him already.'


The Charles Mingus Band in
flight. Ervin's tenor
ascending, like fencepost
steam on the road to church
Mingus walked down as a
child. McLean and Handy
in dialogue together, the bassist
pacing just ahead the others,
his concentration shaped
to 'a pitch of volatility' no
longer distinguishing
between provoking and
reacting. Saying, The
congregation gives their
testimonial before the Lord,
confess their sins and
shout and do a little
Holy Rolling. Saying,
they call their dialogue
talking in tongues or talking
unknown tongue.


- posted by cjb @ 10:10 PM


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