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33 C o p a c e t i c M i n g u s Mingus One, Two and Three. Which is the image you want the world to see? —Charles Mingus, Beneath the Underdog Heartstring. Blessed wood & every moment the thing’s made of: ball of fatback licked by fingers of fire. Hard love, it’s hard love. Running big hands down the upright’s wide hips, rocking his moon-eyed mistress with gold in her teeth. Art & life bleed into each other as he works the bow. But tonight we’re both a long ways from the Mile High City, 1973. Here in New Orleans years below sea level, I listen to Pithecanthropus Erectus: Up & down, under & over, every which way— thump, thump, dada—ah, yes. Wood heavy with tenderness, Mingus fingers the loom gone on Segovia, dogging the raw strings unwaxed with rosin. Hyperbolic bass line. Oh, no! Hard love, it’s hard love. ...

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