Friday, December 05, 2003

There's something about vinyl, at least for the more abstact and expressionistic music, those moments recorded on some beautiful piano in some perfect studio in some perfect mood, that captures the music more prefectly than the perfect digital recording, the way paintings tell much more than photographs of the same. I thought something was wrong with my George Shearing CD tonight, that the recording was bad, but then remembered that Dorothy Hubbard would send me home from piano lessons with vinyl recordings of George Shearing, and I'd listen to them on my parent's old Harmon Cardon and not really understand why Mrs. Hubbard was interested in me knowing his music, since she seemed frustrated at times by my improvisation of mood on classical pieces, and I was much more interested in playing Led Zeppelin and the latest love ballads than that crazy jazz stuff. Now, I get it. I even understand why she kept trying to poke my eyes out with the damn ruler. I think what it must have been like for him, playing, no visual distractions that we experience, everything movement and sound, maybe smelling the way the metal vibrated on certain notes, the atmosphere burning diffent scents to different electrical wavelengths stirring the air. One of my favorite activities, home for break, was to go play the piano in the darkened church, which I could never do growing up, play in the dark, after everyone was gone to bed - at best, at dusk, in the winter, before anyone else came home. And now, here, alone, as my fingers tire, and my tips, flush with blood and tingled numbness feel the keys as stroked flesh, the pressure and pleasure like nipples, hardened, stroking back, I can hear such that I've never before, starting to understand her vibrations, sensitivity to touch, when to draw in, when to draw back for that perfectly balanced intesity, tonight, the treble G, singing back to me on the third beat of a 4/4 whole, and then again, fading off into nothing in the third or fourth measure and then a glimmer in the fifth. I remember Samantha, sitting with me in the church one night, when I was so completely absorbed and telling me that "that" made her want to make love to me when I finished, and I was still so enjoying the feel of the piano that I could not rouse myself for a moment sealing kiss. Actually, I think we did make out for a while. And the thought of the piano bench, the church, the light from the moon and streaming in made it so tempting - but the light streaming in, into my Dad's church, made me reconsider. Regretably. 12:58:44 AM