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Musics for Piano, Whistling, Microphone and Tape Recorder 179 the right hand and a single note on the left. It is essence of "oompah," a ragtime or "stride" left hand strain. I've played Jelly Roll Morton, Earl Hines, stride and ragtime influenced piano for many years so this piece comes out of that but also it is kin to a film I made in '68-'69 called wherein the camera pans back and forth at different tempi in sync with a percussive machine sound which emphasizes the arrival of the picture at each left or right extreme with a thump thump thump thump thump ... To return to the music, now it's changed to a single note in the treble alternating with bass chords. I played this piece with alternating right and left hands, a backhanded compliment to Paul Wittgenstein, barm barm. Those are alternating chords in both hands brark breek brarch breekeek bracque back to top single note bottom chord crash ping crash ping crash ping crash ping. It certainly is a slow tempo. One of the reasons for that is that it enables one to have time to hear all the music that is emanating from the sounding of each note or chord. Hear what I mean? See what I mean? Left right, left right left right left right two hands two ears two loudspeakers all marking time not marching time. I'll type this just with my right hand and this with my left hand and this with my right now left then right then left then right then left then right then left. . . pause . . . electric typewriter. Typewriter and loudspeaker are interesting words, words that carry histories in their newness. A man in a bright blue windbreaker is running down the street. Words are inching across the page . . . Your eyes are what? Me, I'm veering. Sex. One's mind rebounds. Mine did, I can't know whether another mind does or did. Turning off the music my mind rebounded from the coldness of this page to the heat of our bodies ensuite to a certain other body with my body in and on. A contributing member. Arrival at the station. Back to work. No, why don't you too think about fucking that someone who mutually. Deeper. Excuse me, I'll must get this out of your mind for a minute it's getting a bit too intimate in there ... Sorry, but could you superimpose that warm wet picture on the sound? Now fade the picture out slowly till you're just listening. Now I'm just writing. You're listening and reading. Just one backward glance in the form of the reassurance that you'll very likely be able to think that over again just as you can play these records again or read this again. Perhaps this time you you you you're reading it it it it without the music but now this this this this time you're reading it with th th th th th the music on. Silent reading right? If so you'll note, perhaps, that the long slow tempo section is followed by a faster tempo coda .. . Mind keeps fading into her pants. Into mine too. Could it be that the way the jacket was open to be read suggested "opened" legs? "Jacket" like legs! The "Album" might be a better word there, with another letter. . . Let's try that fading out/fading in system again. "Mixing" or "dissolving" it's called . . . "Left Right" gets pretty fast, racing ahead of the metronome beat vers la fin. Lots of merging of the sustained "distortions" both there and here. Shaman. One presumes a lot if one presumes that one can direct another consciousness into varying states of attentiveness en face d'un construct made by one for that very purpose. Amplifying "varying states of attentiveness" I could say that I mean not only the intensity of the attention but its nature and focus. I do presume that I can do that and that I do it to myself. Impossible subject, I can never be objective. I tend to believe, because of occasional exterior manifestations , that many of the states of mind I experience in perceiving my work are frequently enough experienced by others. A passage can push you back into yourself so that its benevolent force reinforces your integrity and you momentarily become a core of concentrated yourself. Such a passage might modulate into an arrangement of 180 The...


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MARC Record
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