After spending a lovely, introspective, yet interested-in-the-world late afternoon in Lafayette Park with the Taylor, the sun began to lower beneath the tree line and the exhilarating heat decided to call it a day. The wind was picking up; the birds were starting to swarm around chaotically, their chirps loudening, meaning maybe it was time for me to go home and get some things done, too.
The walk home was a lot of fun; I played the entire way. It’s interesting how some people look strangely at you when you’re playing music on the street, as if the ancient, communal art of creating music in public is somehow more unusual than buying a cell phone, or a couch, or whatever the fuck they happen to be doing at the time. Some people smile, and most seem appreciative in whatever way they appreciate things like that.
The first thing I did when I arrived back home, was the recording of the song, above, in the elevator. I decided to share it immediately, as it very well may change the way people think, not only think about music, but about the very concept of sound, in general. Or not.
I do think it made a little bit of a point about how the simple, banal, everyday tasks of our fucked up, crazy lives may sometimes seem invisible to our existence, but we don’t have to let them pass by without recognition of the event. We can embrace the simple shit, like how there’s almost always some birthday party in Lafayette Park with a bubble machine blowing bubbles, and the little orbs of refracted light travel pretty far sometimes, popping high up in the air, guided only, really, by the force of chaos, which is not a force at all, but all there really is and ever will be.