Matthew Shipp solo at the Blue Note, NYC




the pacifier

matthew shipp solo at the blue note set 1 & 2 - 8/23/10 (for O.P.) monologue with self am steel yama in trin sic as what for (f)ever zig zag rimrom pozzzilum rorrim the where is something & the where is something not revolving as in barrel as in light of solidilos /oh & the flame really does dance to the music & the music truly does obey the flame combined with piano’s intrigues are enough to pacify like a young boy's thumb enough to satisfy even the hungriest whim or emptiest void jazz & cocktails flung from any horn’s bell -- glasszaj blue tones & cylinders it's not only about tearing up flowers or building down walls not always about how lucid the howler can be or how transparent it's a wind away from destroying a pre-fab a jaunt away from the confines of freedom i still hug my pillow & keep another over my head nearly smothering myself i still make sure my feet are covered by a blanket in the dark of night as i try to catch some sleep always afraid that if i leave them exposed a hand will grab me from beneath the bed pull me under & carry me to my death & this even though the bed i now sleep on rests solidly on the floor i still breathe to stay alive tho not by choice it is a mechanical act of being i am steeled to the soft & beckoning Fetishes tho i easily succumb with a nod for rarely has there been sugar so sweet or pepper so hot these brittling bones that make a pass @ a young boy's ears the torrents that sweep over a growing prince's life flesh as sweet as candy you draw the music as it filters thru your blood knowing some day the bureau will hold your secret as the blanket now holds mine he replays the past merging it into triads available echoes of yesterday spreading outward toward our innards fragments of standards that represent the composer's need to speak straight lines morph then just as quickly disperse into borderless realms all secrets keep as our world's continue to end here inside this blue blue note where a new New Yorker is born so hurry now the city impatiently awaits you with its thumb in its mouth the pianist's speech a mystery to us both - Steve Dalachinsky