Saturday, May 05, 2007

woodshedding & paperwork

Sorry for the sparsity of posts of late. Been doing some low-grade woodshedding and planning a recording (and chasing up old recordings and other documentation)…. And I really oughta get around to catching up on my reading. (sjz says he’s been stuck reading a couple of chapters for six years, but frankly that’s nothing compared to having read and re-read the first half dozen pages of a book for that last eight (count ’em) years.)
Anyway, another thing that is occupying my time is only peripherally related to music.
I swear a musician’s life is 20 days of paper pushing for one day on the road. When you’re up on stage, it’s all worth it, but I doubt any of us chose to be musicians based on our love of paperwork. (Incidentally, I’d just like to say that sympathetic and skillful promoters / managers / producers are very rare figures. I’m privileged to have worked with a few earlier in my career (ha ha ha—can I call it that?), but right now, I’m afloat on my own.)
However, I do plan to get back to this blog. In addition to the tutorial material and usual unplanned collection of thoughts, I want to continue the discussion of laptops in performance (including a more positive and optimistic look at the practice), and the upturned piano (eventually turning to look at the technological dramas surrounding electric guitars).

tig will be back shortly.

2 comments:

Stanley Jason Zappa said...

Biby Cletus is absolutely right!

But where did you go in exchange for 20 days of paper pushing? And what book has taken 8 years to read? And what about these recordings? And are people really still using laptop computers anymore? (That's soooo 2004.)

Yes!

the improvising guitarist said...

Hey, sjz, I haven’t been anywhere yet—I’m pushing paper to get out! (I’ll hopefully be hitting the road ’round October/November.)
Actually, that’s two books: Deleuze/Guattari, Anti-Oedipus (I’m stuck at page 8) and Lyotard, The Differend (stuck at page 11).
Soooo 2004? I’d say it’s sooo 1977. But in our post-modern funk, an idea does not die, it just gets sillier.

S, tig