For those who enjoy a good dose of baroque music, I’d like to recommend Gabrielli & Scarlatti: Complete Cello Works, by Guadalupe López-Íñiguez. It is quite exquisite…
If you’re into supporting women classical musicians like I am, then also check out the following:
- J.S. Bach: French Suites — Chopin: Mazurkas, by Alexandra Sostmann
- A Chopin Diary (Complete Nocturnes), by Claire Huangci
- Vivaldi: Complete Cello Sonatas, by Ophélie Gaillard
- The Baroque Harp, by Judy Loman
- The Genius of Salzedo, by Judy Loman
- Anything by pianist Yuja Wang
A cow’s moo and the muffled grunt of Frankenstein’s monster (Karloff). Compare & contrast.
I am in my cocoon right now, complete with classical music (Chopin’s Mazurkas) coffee and Wayne Koestenbaum’s Pink Trance Notebooks, dudes. In a bubble I might instead be listening to Bach or Brahms and per chance reading Bukowski?
Thought in the back of my mind is … 2019 is just crazy tawk.
She had a cocktail in a plastic cup, and I remember her nose was a sort of red.
She wore a blue denim jacket at her house party and didn’t care.
The one thing I remember about her was her curls. I remember their frizziness, like if you washed a doll’s hair and just left it as is.
Her apartment floors had old linoleum, and the rooms were low-lit and looked comfortable. Everyone seemed to be happy.
She had an interest in me, and we both liked the Beatles’ White Album. We had discussed it at the student union. Continue reading
A girl in front of her house was doing hula hoop tricks today. She reminded me of a flapper — maybe Josephine Baker, the way she stared dead ahead and smiled — perhaps knowing she had it down and that she would beguile onlookers.
The hula hoop never stopped moving, regardless of where it wound up — seemingly precarious but staying put, like a plate on a stick in a vaudeville act. What kept it gyrating? It reminded me of those yo-yo tricks, where the yo-yo appeared motionless, like a hummingbird probing for pollen. Continue reading
Steam rose like pistol smoke from my double shot while I gazed at the Silver State horizon, musing to myself that this was the type of place where Clint Eastwood had had it out with many an unshaven buckaroo, adorned with his quintessential poncho, woven with the colors of coffee & cream. Continue reading
Nobody in the congregation could imagine her not moving. Doris had always moved — as if made of rubber or as if a bouncy spirit had inhabited her.
People remembered her swaying across the gymnasium floor during the church’s centennial celebration. She was dancing to My Girl by the Temptations and all the other songs on the DJ’s playlist, all the way up until the finale of Sister Sledge’s We Are Family. People recalled her lips moving while singing, plump with rouge lipstick and her eyes going all expressive. But now they were still, and her lips looked buttoned and had a cinnamon tone that you could barely even notice. Continue reading
It’s so cool that Chrissie Hynde repeatedly refers to love as “the word” in the Pretenders’ ’80s-era song Show Me. It seems a suave intracultural reference to the 1965 song The Word by the Beatles. That song, of course, was referring to love, as well. Also, a beautiful and poetic line in the Pretenders’ song: Welcome here from outer space / The Milky Way is still in your eyes. That line makes me think of a newborn coming into the world.
This photo I took yesterday in Kyle Canyon, Nevada, reminds me of Close Encounters.