Dena DeRose de la Gorra Azul

Dena DeRose ------- August 18, 1997 -- photo by Mark Weber -- some types of film drift over the years and get fuzzy, the center won't hold, as Yeats had it -- looks okay, I wouldn't want a steady diet of those, but I do like ----- Her first Outpost Performance Space appearance . . . .

Dena DeRose ——- August 18, 1997 — photo by Mark Weber — some types of film drift over the years and get fuzzy, the center won’t hold, as Yeats had it — looks okay, I wouldn’t want a steady diet of those, but I do like —– Her first Outpost Performance Space appearance . . . .

The Thursday Jazz Radio Show

April 7, 2o16 Jazz @ Noon every Thursday (starts at 12:07 after the satellite news) Host MARK WEBER KUNM Albuquerque, USA 89.9 FM (Mountain Standard Time) also streaming on the web KUNM.org Current time zone offset: UTC*/GMT -6 hours (*Coordinated Universal Time)/Greenwich Mean Time)

Dena DeRose de la Gorra Azul

Why are people embarrassed to sing?
Like me, I’m reticent about such things,
although, I have sung, I sang on the Outpost
stage, once or twice, I was in this band
and I think I drew the short straw, so
it was me, I’ve sung other places, but
I can barely imagine it, that wasn’t me,
it was someone else, I even sang at
my mother’s funeral last year, but that
time it just came out when words
failed me, I hadn’t planned it, there I
was riding the reverb, tuning into the
room, singing a wordless song, but why?

There’s a theory that as we created a
language that flowed, we sung, that
sentences with connected words come
from singing, when before, we spoke
with a series of unconnected metaphors
“bird sky tree” see the bird in the sky,
now he’s sitting in a tree —
they think we learned a lot about singing
from birds, chirp chirp,
but, why?
Singers must be from another world, some
other place, come from elsewhere . . . .

I’ll ask our guest today why we sing (or
why some of us sing and others don’t) what
ancient impulse brought about singing?
There’s speculation that Neanderthals
sang, like a bunch of sinatras, singing
in the valleys of Europe, or gene kellys
singing in the rain, there was more rain
back then, splish splash I was takin’ a bath

Our guest today, Dena DeRose, is one of those
other-worldly creatures that sings —
We’ll ask her to tell us about it.

Kazzrie Jaxen, Joe Solomon and Alexa Fila (sitting) at Connie's loft in Williamsburg NYC -- November 16, 2o14 -- photo & line drawing by Mark Weber -- We listen'd last week on the show to singer Alexa Fila's CD with her teacher Sal Mosca, in duet, A WORK OF ART (Zinnia Records) and I believe is her only formal release and superb

Kazzrie Jaxen, Joe Solomon and Alexa Fila (sitting) at Connie’s loft in Williamsburg NYC — November 16, 2o14 — photo & line drawing by Mark Weber — We listen’d last week on the show to singer Alexa Fila’s CD with her teacher Sal Mosca, in duet, A WORK OF ART (Zinnia Records) and I believe is her only formal release and superb

The new (1960s) Steinway B (7-foot) being renovated by Fred Sturm in the Outpost workshop & storage -- January 20, 2o16 -- This is the piano that will join the Steinway A on stage May 5 & 6 for dual piano workouts with Kazzrie Jaxen, Virg Dzurinko, and Carol Liebowitz -- Donated to Outpost Performance Space by Bob & Anita Feld (Steve's parents) -- photo by Mark Weber

The new (1960s) Steinway B (7-foot) being renovated by Fred Sturm in the Outpost workshop & storage — January 20, 2o16 — This is the piano that will join the Steinway A on stage May 5 & 6 for dual piano workouts with Kazzrie Jaxen, Virg Dzurinko, and Carol Liebowitz — Donated to Outpost Performance Space by Bob & Anita Feld (Steve’s parents) — photo by Mark Weber

Billy Higgins & Friends -- July 17, 1984 Watts Towers Jazz Festival (8th Annual) -- Oscar Brashear, trumpet; Azar Lawrence, tenor; Jeffrey Littleton, bass; William Henderson, piano ----- photo by Mark Weber

Billy Higgins & Friends — July 17, 1984 Watts Towers Jazz Festival (8th Annual) — Oscar Brashear, trumpet; Azar Lawrence, tenor; Jeffrey Littleton, bass; William Henderson, piano —– photo by Mark Weber

A moment of stasis backstage at Hollywood Bowl during the Playboy Jazz Festival: the two guys in the middle are Lammar Wright Jr (hat) and Harold Howard, both trumpeters -- the gentleman on the right might be with the Basie band -- June 19, 1982 -- photo by Mark Weber -- Lammar was a complete crack-up to hang with, he was full of stories of the bebop days and so forth, me and Harold laughed for years, after Lammar was gone, over his retort when an old friend asked "Lammar, how come you didn't bring your horn!" and Lammar barked "BECAUSE I'M NOT PLAYING TODAY!"

A moment of stasis backstage at Hollywood Bowl during the Playboy Jazz Festival: the two guys in the middle are Lammar Wright Jr (hat) and Harold Howard, both trumpeters — the gentleman on the right might be with the Basie band — June 19, 1982 — photo by Mark Weber — Lammar was a complete crack-up to hang with, he was full of stories of the bebop days and so forth, me and Harold laughed for years, after Lammar was gone, over his retort when an old friend asked “Lammar, how come you didn’t bring your horn!” and Lammar barked “BECAUSE I’M NOT PLAYING TODAY!”

Lou Donaldson Quartet made us all believers this night of May 27, 2o10 (has it been that long ago? the memory is closer) -- Randy Johnston, guitar; Fukushi Tainaka, drums; Pat Bianchi, Hammond B3 -- photo by Mark Weber at Outpost Performance Space, Albuquerque USA

Lou Donaldson Quartet made us all believers this night of May 27, 2o10 (has it been that long ago? the memory is closer) — Randy Johnston, guitar; Fukushi Tainaka, drums; Pat Bianchi, Hammond B3 — photo by Mark Weber at Outpost Performance Space, Albuquerque USA

Joan Jobe Smith, the poet, publisher, pie maker, and my friend -- April 18, 1995 -- photo by Mark Weber in Long Beach, California -- Joan always has her shades on -- Everywhere -- She has a sensitivity to sunlight -- I think she even wears them to bed

Joan Jobe Smith, the poet, publisher, pie maker, and my friend — April 18, 1995 — photo by Mark Weber in Long Beach, California — Joan always has her shades on — Everywhere — She has a sensitivity to sunlight — I think she even wears them to bed

John Rangel and Patti Littlefield -- soundcheck -- March 5, 2o15 -- photo by Mark Weber -- Patti and her group with Arlen Asher (woodwinds), John Rangel (piano), Andy Zadrozny (bass), John Trentacosta (drums) will be appearing at an Outpost near you soon (April 14th)

John Rangel and Patti Littlefield — soundcheck — March 5, 2o15 — photo by Mark Weber — Patti and her group with Arlen Asher (woodwinds), John Rangel (piano), Andy Zadrozny (bass), John Trentacosta (drums) will be appearing at an Outpost near you soon (April 14th)

Me and the poet Lyn Lifshin -- March 18, 1995 (Lyn has my hat on) Washington DC

Me and the poet Lyn Lifshin — March 18, 1995 (Lyn has my hat on) Washington DC

Art Pepper -- April 27, 1977 -- photo & line drawing by Mark Weber

Art Pepper — April 27, 1977 — photo & line drawing by Mark Weber

Doug Lawrence ran a jam session at this Hell's Kitchen spot in the 90s -- The Savoy Bar, 355 West 41st Street (at 9th Avenue) NYC -- Valerie Ponomarev, trumpet; Paul Wells, drums; Doug, tenor; Kathy Farmer, Hammond B3 -- June 28, 1997 -- photo by Mark Weber

Doug Lawrence ran a jam session at this Hell’s Kitchen spot in the 90s — The Savoy Bar, 355 West 41st Street (at 9th Avenue) NYC — Valerie Ponomarev, trumpet; Paul Wells, drums; Doug, tenor; Kathy Farmer, Hammond B3 — June 28, 1997 — photo by Mark Weber

Dena DeRose in trio formation with Michael Zisman, bass, and local drummer Andy Poling -- August 18, 1997 -- photo by Mark Weber

Dena DeRose in trio formation with Michael Zisman, bass, and local drummer Andy Poling — August 18, 1997 — photo by Mark Weber

Maybe we originally sang out of sadness? 1977, that's the year my Mom got sober, I don't know who took this photo because that's me behind Mom serving myself a bowl of chili in her kitchen

Maybe we originally sang out of sadness? 1977, that’s the year my Mom got sober, I don’t know who took this photo because that’s me behind Mom serving myself a bowl of chili in her kitchen

18 Comments

  1. Late breaking news.
    I’ve been asked to read the poems of Richard Hugo for the Wayne Horvitz concert at the Outpost Performance Space this Saturday April 9. Wayne had asked Tom if he knew anybody who might want to read these and Tom remembered that at lunch the other day I had said how surprised I was finding in the Outpost Gazette that Mr Horvitz’s latest scene was writing music to Richard Hugo poems. I don’t know anybody else who knows this great poet’s work. Todd Moore of course, and Kell Robertson obviously, and Gerald Locklin, Judson Crews, Keith Wilson, and Ray Zepeda, and most probably Fred Voss, and Joe Somoza, but outside of those guys it’s a lonely world. Anyway, I can read Richard Hugo (1923-1982) ‘s poems standing on my head. He’s straight up narrative (plainspeak
    variety) with just a dash of modernism, right out of Seattle and over into Montana.

    Wayne’s band is a cyclotron of trigger’d and unpretending artists: Ron Miles, trumpet; Peggy Lee, cello; Timothy Young, guitar; Sara Schoenbeck, bassoon; Eric Eagle, drums; Keith Lowe, bass; Wayne on piano & keyboards. Same band that appears on Wayne’s 2o15 cd SOME PLACES ARE FOREVER AFTERNOON playing this music.

    Here’s the first poem of the concert, by Richard Hugo:

    The Milltown Union Bar

    You could love here, not the lovely goat
    in plexiglass nor the elk shot
    in the middle of a joke, but honest drunks,
    crossed swords above the bar, three men hung
    in the bad painting, others riding off
    on the phony green horizon. The owner,
    fresh from orphan wars, loves too
    but bad as you. He keeps improving things
    but can’t cut the bodies down.

    You need never leave. Money or a story
    brings you booze. The elk is grinning
    and the goat says go so tenderly
    you hear him through the glass. If you weep
    deer heads weep. Sing and the orphanage
    announces plans for your release. A train
    goes by and ditches jump. You were nothing
    going in and now you kiss your hand.

    When mills shut down, when the worst drunk
    says finally I’m stone, three men still hang
    painted badly from a leafless tree, you
    one of them, brains tied behind your back,
    swinging for your sin. Or you swing
    with goats and elk. Doors of orphanages
    finally swing out and here you open in.

    *On the subject of being a writer and the practice thereof I recommend Hugo’s renowned book THE TRIGGERING TOWN — it’s been 25 or so years ago since I last read that book myself and intend to revisit it this week.

  2. I first came across Lyn Lifshin in WORMWOOD REVIEW in the late 1970s.
    Here’s three Lyn Lifshin poems:

    FAMILY

    she said horses they
    lived somewhere with
    black horses in the
    snow that the fruit
    was so huge in Odessa
    and a father or was
    it a cousin marrying
    late and not the girl
    who was dancing in
    the candles the ight
    before they were
    to marry her dress
    eating fire as May
    wind blew in from
    the black trees
    and left her ash

    *from KISS THE SKIN OFF (1985, Cherry Valley Editions)

    MEN AND CARS

    the ones that get you
    where you wanted to go
    the ones you have to
    lug out of a ditch
    at great expense

    some mstreat you
    no matter how
    much you spend
    can’t be relied on

    I’ve always liked
    the ones that were
    never popular
    aristocrats daimlers

    breaking down and
    having to be
    brought home in
    your arms,
    always the most
    beautiful
    the ones that dazzle you
    the ones you should marry

    *from MEN AND CARS (Four Zoas)

    MY SISTER’S DIARIES

    spread out in the dark
    room of the house
    where sleet bent
    pines are dripping,
    diaries like shells
    a blood sun catches
    glass turned ruby and
    cranberry in altered
    light. Her today a
    net of holes. But
    these leather books
    with their spines
    cracking like debris
    from a wrecked ship
    burning to surface
    stud the colorless
    crystalline haze
    the way a field of
    jonquils push
    thru the snow

    *from THE DOCTOR POEMS (1990, Applezaba Press)

    Lyn lives in Vienna, Virginia, just outside Washington DC

  3. I have about a dozen Joan Jobe Smith books on my shelf:
    JEHOVAH JUKEBOX (1993, Event Horizon), WHY ROBERT WAGNER MARRIED NATALIE WOOD (1990, Wormwood Review), BORN NOT TO LAUGH AT TORNADOES (1997, Liquid Paper Press), LOVE BIRDS w/Fred Voss (1997, Chiron Review Press),
    TALES OF AN ANCIENT GO-GO GIRL (2o15, MarJo Books), THE HONEYMOOD OF KING KONG & EMILY DICKINSON w/Fred Voss (1993, Zerx Press), and others . . . .

    Cheatin’ Hearts

    Your cheatin’ hearts
    will tell on you, Marion, Naomi, and I
    sang-shouted into the night
    out my front door in 1955
    during a pouring-down rainstorm
    so’s to be heard by Tommy, Bobby, and Millard
    across the street inside Tommy’s house
    with the lights out, our folks gone

    and the Tommy, Bobby, and Millard
    sang-shouted louder, to be heard
    over the roars of thunder,
    Your cheatin’ hearts
    will make you weep,
    while the glow-dots of their cigarettes
    let us know they lay on the floor
    looking out Tommy’s front door at us
    as we struck matches in the dark,
    pretending to be smoking, too,
    shivering in our pajamas.

    That summer Naomi would fall in love
    with Tommy, Marion with Millard,
    Bobby would give me my first kiss
    in the back seat of a car
    at a drive-in movie, then Naomi
    would take Millard away from Marion,
    marry him in the 11th grade,
    Marion, Tommy, Bobby, and I
    would marry others,
    Millard would leave Naomi and their two kids,
    Tommy would go to prison for drugs and die
    young of lung cancer, Bobby, Millard and Naomi
    disappear, Marion and I become comadres

    and finally, when the rain began to pour in,
    we, the Patsy Clines,
    and they, the Hank Williamses,
    had to close the front doors
    so’s to keep ourselves
    and the carpets dry.

    *From the POW WOW CAFE (1998, Smith/Doorstop Books)

    Whisky a Go-Go Slo Mo With Jim Morrison

    Whisky a Go-Go in 1965 packed in the sin and in crowd,
    Brando, Warhol, Frank and Mia, me high in the corner cage
    smoke in my eyes auditioning to the new band The Doors,
    stupid name said another go-go girl, lead singer always stoned
    LSD-corroded croaking “Light my Fie-yarrr” over and over
    till blisters on our dancing feet began to bleed and we got so
    tired we had to dance bugaloo slo mo so I turned down the
    Whisky job, walked to my car through Sunset Strip, Sonny
    and Cher look-alikes, runaway girls, panhandling hippies,
    stalled traffic and worried cops, turned right to find my VW
    parked up a Hollywood hill a mile away. I cared not about this
    hipster counterculture, the yeah-yeah generation outa sight cool
    cats screaming Bummer, man! when narcs busted them for
    possession and vagrancy or worse. Went to work at The Fort
    a beer bottle’s throw from L.A. Harbor and oil refineries
    packed with workingstiff sin and in crowd, stevedores, crazy
    bikers, sailors, machinists who dive bombed into beer pitchers 8
    days a week and left dirty screws on my tip trays instead of
    dollars. The August night of the 1965 Watts Riots I stood on
    top of the roof of The Fort a tarpaper flat the size of 100 pool tables
    where guys in the band partied during breaks, I watched the L.A.
    sky glow orange neon fie-yarrr, black smoke cringe crow-slap
    moustaches and pierce the sunset a van Gogh last earthdream.
    As gunshots cracked and sirens screamed, I knew right then as I
    read another indelible page of unfolding starry, scary night, that
    the book of my life would never be titled The Good Old Days.
    But at least I’d have slo-mo shadow memories of dancing upon the
    Whisky a Go-Go stage with Jim Morrison; and though a dirty
    dive, The Fort was close to home and my parking space was free.

    *From SEQUIN SOUL (2010, Chance Press)

  4. Dena DeRose de la gorra azul [Espanol]
    for >
    Dena of the rose the one with the blue cap

  5. Frederick Voss

    April 4, 2016 at 6:59 pm

    hey, mark, t hanks for the jivey jjsTribute… hahahaha… I did, actually, need to wear sunglasses in bed–when watching tv–abt 3 years in 2000s when I had severe migraines (remember me joan-moaning to you all those years abt how bad I was getting?) but migraines went away in 2007 and when we got our new flatscreen I don’t need sunglasses no mo’ to watch tv.. (plus we got tv Brightness turned down darkest it’ll go–computer screen, too). I’ve had bad photophobia since a baby with my extra-pale blue blue eyes; I have a mild form of albinism, a Scottish baad gene I got from my Scottish folks; I need a lot of gray skies–Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel and I suffered similarly. What am I holding? it’s a little thingie (I forget name of it now–netsuke?), a thing to ward off Evil entering yr abode, a Kabuki meanie I bought in Little Tokyo–it used to hang from our front doorknob but the nose broke off and it didn’t seem to be able to ward off evil anymore so I threw it away and cd never find a new one too replace it. I really loved that guy–he had a big bell on him to let you know when the door opened so you cd get out yr sword to swat Evil before it entered. We have a lightweight Japanese motif here in our apt: norin on bathrm door and one of my favorite things is my Geisha Japanese doll–the water carrier. And I got me a good Buddha and Welcome Cat, too. thanks for your jjs mention today… so much on your sites.. love to you…

  6. P.S.:that’s really joan jobe smith–moi– not Frederick Voss yacking it up up there… I typed that in erroneously… oh, love the pic of your Mama… she was might pretty… and the cool pic of you and Lyn..

  7. New to me- these poets, words and pictures. Appreciate introduction, new vistas.

  8. Carol Tristano

    April 6, 2016 at 6:51 am

    Great photos Mark – Kazzrie – Billy – Joan! And your Mom – very deep scene. I will try to listen to the show via the internet – it sounds very interesting. I don’t know Dena DeRose. I dig your poem and musings about singing. Very provocative – did you know that singer Betty Scott sang before she talked?
    Thanks for posting all this poetry – I’ve been looking for Joan’s poetry – it’s not easy to get. I’ve just started her book – Tales of an Ancient Go-Go girl – it’s amazing. Some of the scenes are Hitchcockian – and this is her life!

  9. Carol Tristano

    April 6, 2016 at 6:59 am

    Hey Joan – far out poem – Whisky a Go-Go – and digging your comment to Mark – no wonder you had to ward off evil!

  10. Carol Tristano

    April 6, 2016 at 3:10 pm

    Must add – I can’t believe I’m going to miss these block busting concerts! Kazzrie – Virg – Carol!!! Each one so original – put them together and who knows what will happen – the joy of improvisation!

  11. Carol Tristano

    April 6, 2016 at 3:15 pm

    My Sister’s Diaries – beautiful poem

  12. powerful writing, Mark

  13. Carol Tristano

    April 7, 2016 at 9:04 am

    Hi Mark – I think I’m posting too much – getting tired of seeing my name here! But I forgot to say – the line drawing next to your mother’s photo is really something – the blue part – the way it wisps out – the energy – makes me feel something about your Mom. It’s a wonderful drawing.

  14. —————————playlist——————————————-
    A Rose is a Rose is Dena DeRose Jazz Radio Show
    April 7, 2o16
    KUNM Albuqueruqe USA
    Live in-studio guests Dena DeRose and John Trentacosta

    1. Dena DeRose Trio (Martin Wind, bass; Matt Wilson, drums) “A Walk in the Park” –2005
    2. Dena DeRose Trio “I’m Glad There is You” –August 2015 cd UNITED (High Note)
    3. Sheila Jordan telephone answering device on Manhattan –28may2o15
    4. Dena DeRose Trio “Come Rain or Come Shine” –1996 (her first cd) INTRODUCING
    5. Frank D’Rone “Mountain Greenery” –18july62 Lp IN PERSON Live at the Hungry i
    *played for Judy & Tom Christopher who sponsored Dena’s Outpost performance
    6. Dena DeRose Trio “United” from 2015 cd UNITED
    7. Merle Haggard “Pennies From Heaven” R.I.P. April 6 — his 1986 Lp OUT AMONG THE STARS
    8. Dena reading, at my request, Richard Hugo poem “The Milltown Union Bar”
    9. Wayne Horvitz “Money or a story” January 2015 cd SOME PLACE ARE FOREVER AFTERNOON (11
    Places for RIchard Hugo)
    10. Dena DeRose “The Great City” from 2o14 cd WE WON’T FORGET YOU An Homage to Shirley Horn

  15. Mark — enjoyed your powerful thoughts and
    insights on singing
    thanks for posting Joan’s great poetry & as always
    your photos capturing the feel of jazzmen and the scenes
    so well!
    keep it going,
    Fred

  16. How could I be so wrong? Those poems of Richard Hugo’s are anything but easy to read. They are deceptive in their normalness, they look and act like regular old-fashioned narrative poems, although are anything but. I’m glad that I’m a bit older and the pressure is not on me to prove myself in any great way, because those poems put you in a tight spot if you think you’re going to breeze through them while standing on stage running your mouth. One thing I found out is that they were not written to be read out loud, they are, for the most part, page poems. They innocently start off in an easy narrative flow but I was wary and living off of commas and periods, because that flow leads straight into whirlpools of enjambments, elliptical phrases, dropped connectives, convoluted syntax, and seemingly a pure flippancy with word choices. Made me wonder when did he quit this legendary boozing one reads about? Not that the poems have a careless drunkeness to them but that drunks have an edge of anger and defensiveness that exhibits itself in being contrary, leading with their chin, saying rude things just to see if you’ll punch.

    It wasn’t until the morning of the reading that I actually tried reading some of the poems out loud and found out these poems had breathing issues. I wonder if there are recordings of Richard Hugo reading them? I’d sure like to hear how some of the other poets navigate these waters that Wayne Horvitz has been using. In fact, it struck me afterwards, that a better choice of reader might be trained actors, they’d be up for all the tricky turns and the various voices needed, and they probably know how to breath on stage, which was an issue I was having to pay attention to. Doing my pranayama exercises between poems and during the poems taking breathing breaks at the stanzas and sometimes at the periods. Like I said, I was praying for those commas and periods. Curiously, as hard as it is to get those poems off the page (one needs a crowbar) I liked reading them. Not that I have any great need to be on stage, but the poems are peculiar, even familiar. Maybe I was just showing off how I could master them? Now that I sit here, honestly, that has to be considered.

    Mostly I didn’t want to let Wayne down, he has so much of himself invested in this work that he didn’t need me to screw up the poems, actually he was taking quite a gamble employing me in this capacity as he knows nothing about me, other than what maybe Tom Guralnick said, which carries some weight. The poetry is a big part of the performance and if the poet is bumbling along or going wide of the various nuances it can be weird. And for the life work of Richard Hugo we have a responsibility not to muck it up.

    Wayne’s music is gorgeous, languid, introspective in a wide-open spaces kind of way. I have to say it is music that actually truly evokes the poems. And to read the poem alone just before the performance of each of the 11 pieces is perfect. I wish I could have heard it ( ! ) I’d love to sit down with Wayne someday and ask him how he manages to get inside the poems. His music reminded me of Ralph Vaughan Williams and Sibelius and mostly Aaron Copland’s “Corral Nocturne” from Rodeo. Wayne’s music completely fits these poems, it was dream-like. Too obvious to signify on Debussy and Ravel. It’s just beautiful music and the players that he has brought together to play this music are perfect and loose and completely allied to Wayne’s vision — It’s very concise music — Some places are forever afternoon.

    It was inspiring to be on stage with musicians of this caliber and commitment.

    Sara Schoenbeck, bassoon
    Peggy Lee, cello
    Keith Lowe, bass (borrowed Michael Olivola’s gig bass as the Outpost bass is in repair)
    Timothy Young, guitar (Fender Squire Jazzmaster, 2o15, with new pots)
    Eric Eagle, drums
    Wayne Horvitz, piano
    Ron Miles, cornet (Monet custom)

    I wish I had the dough to commission Mr Horvitz to write some music for my poetry, maybe someday. Some day.

    You can tell that Hugo took long pauses between thoughts and phrases. Many of them are disconnected by time. So much is put together just to see how they sound together. I sense that he didn’t revise, and that the poems were constructed in the time-honored tradition of bricks & mortar, and he didn’t go back. Just stacked up the bricks.

    Also, you cannot read them slow, even though that’s your first thought in considering navigation. They are not written slow, and on stage that would get old fast, would be too portentous. (When you get Wayne’s cd SOME PLACES ARE FOREVER AFTERNOON there is a libretto with all the poems.) Reading slow & cautious doesn’t serve these wild poems, you’ll hit the potholes and at times be left standing there when the poem abruptly takes a left turn, but, that’s life.

  17. NOTE: that the poems are read first, followed by the music

  18. Let’s put it this way: This music of Wayne Horvitz’ is so right that I could have been reading from the phone book and it would have sounded great

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