Facsimile February
Fig portrait by Andrew ChaoteFig portrait by Andrew ChaoteFig portrait by Andrew Chaote
Facsimile Magazine, published by Haoyan of America.
ISSN 1937-2116. Volume Five, Number Two

Andrew Choate Interview

Fax: Please state your qualifications and whereabouts.

Andrew Choate: Highly exacerbatable - to self and others (the whole within/ without transcontinental bypass membrane in full effect.)

Lincoln Heights, Los Angeles.

But if Evan Parker's idea that our "roots are in [our] record players" is accurate - and I think it is -, then surely our location (our 'rootedness' if you will) is dependent less on latitude than on attitude. In which case I can be found most regularly enthused or asstonished, the latter typically brought on by the continual discovery of active deprivations aimed at the objects of the former.

Fax: I've heard your record player is special... anything playing at the moment?

AC: I've got two functioning turntables at the moment. One in the back room/ studio for DJ purposes - a cheap direct drive Numark that has two excellent features: it can play records backwards at the touch of a button and it can play at 78rpm, which will be handy when I get all my granddads 78s. He had a pretty big collection he amassed of 20s, 30s and 40s music. I'm not listening to it at the moment but the LP that's sitting on it from the last time I turned it on is a Lafayette Afro Rock Band number called Malik. It was loaned to me by our man on the seafoam side of things, Randono.

My other record player is the creamier of the two, and is protected by Godfrey, a stuffed manta ray with a penchant for licentiousness. It's a Music Hall mmf 5, belt-driven and with a glass plate for the records to spin on. It costs less than the de rigueur wannabe-DJ Technics 1200 standard no-imagination turntable, and looks and sounds a hell of a lot better. It comes with a pair of white gloves to don when flipping the sides. The Sun City Girls' Kaliflower LP is the platter currently available on that side of the home.

But I'm not listening to either at the moment - I'm going through a bunch of György Szabados' music in order to put me in the mindset to generate some questions for him, since I will be interviewing him in a couple of weeks in Serbia. He's a 70 year old piano player who has been making jazz-inflected improv and large ensemble music for many a good moon. Listening to his 1974 quartet album "The Wedding" right now.

Godfrey the guardian
Godfrey the guardian

John Randono: Actually, the last thing that I heard on Andrew's record player was his lucky thompson, oscar pettiford album, title of which eludes me (maybe andrew can clarify), followed by a carlo actis dato record entitled oltremare...I was so intoxicated by the meal he served: delicately spiced, pickled chrysalis in honeywine vinegar and an exquisite plate of fried moth wings, cooked with a gentle crispness and served to perfection. I remarked that chrysalis would make a nice salt-cured treat as well, and agreeing, andrew replied that the moth wings, which are lightly salted, pair better with a slightly acrid pickle. I remember him mentioning that just below the shelled chrysalis, the texture of pickled caterpillar in mid-transformation is very 'q' (a taiwanese designation for the texture of an object that first holds firm and then yields to applied pressure) though I do a disservice to his fine articulation of the actual components of the meal, which he described quite elegantly. we followed the meal with a generous pour of iced lapsong suchong, fresh ginger juice, and bourbon...and I awoke shortly after.

While he may sometimes haunt certain sections of lincoln heights, chavez ravine, and a variety of sundry and unspecified los angeles locales, clear infiltration of mental space has also been demonstrated...side effects are usually nutritional in both the gastronomic sense and in the larger sense of the nourishment of consciousness.

Fax: Godfrey looks hungry for percussion. Do you remember your first record/tape/CD?

AC: The first piece of music I ever purchased was the Beastie Boys 'Licensed to Ill' cassette. A friend of mine already had Run DMC's 'Raising Hell' so we decided it'd be best if I picked up the beasties release.

At this time in my life, I was 10 years old, and my dad was in the habit of waking me up on Saturday mornings and enthusiastically corraling me in front of the TV whenever his two favorite music videos came on: The Beastie Boys "Fight For Your Right To Party" and Twisted Sisters' "I Wanna Rock."

Because it was my dad, and his enthusiasm was embarrassing, I feigned lack of interest. But back with my friends in the neighborhood, we were busy memorizing every word on Licensed to Ill (starting with 'Paul Revere' of course), just like we had done to "Raising Hell" a little earlier.

Fax: When did you start writing about music critically? Is it at all related to your literary output?

AC: Let me start with the first piece I had published. Somehow or another a friend of a guy who was working at URB magazine knew I was into jazz/ free jazz/ improv and he put me in touch with their editor as they were looking for someone to write about "Innovators" in this area of music. I was allowed to pick three folks; I chose Eric Dolphy, Derek Bailey and Anthony Braxton (Sun Ra, John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman were already being covered.) That started a brief relationship wherein every time they wanted to do an article about something slightly jazzy or experimental (but still relevant to URB readers), they would call on me.

When I moved to Los Angeles (I had been in Chicago), I saw an Adam Rudolph concert and introduced myself to him and he asked if I'd be interested in writing about the show I just saw. He put me in touch with Signal to Noise, who wasn't interested in that particular article, ultimately, but who then put me in touch with Stuart Broomer, who was editing Coda at the time. So I started doing some regular CD/ live reviews for Coda, and, later down the road, for Signal to Noise also.

As far as when I ACTUALLY started writing about music, the first piece I did was for a high school assignment of some kind or another about the Sixties. I chose to write about Captain Beefheart's "Trout Mask Replica" as an example of un-psychedelic music that was nonetheless more in tune with actuality than the music typically associated with the era through cliche-ridden quasi-romantic pigeonhole-inducing nostalgia.

I also wrote my undergraduate thesis on philosophies of time in improvised music, attempting to separate the music from the naive notion that improvisation is always about the now now now of the unending present. I continue to write about improv and contemporary music because it is my opinion that these artists - more than any others - are creating ever-more-advanced works that creatively confront fundamental aesthetic, philosophical, spatial and temporal questions. While visual artists get the money, the press and the cultural standing, these musicians are deep at work, and going practically unrecognized. And by "practically" I mean barely surviving despite the enormous contributions they are making to the landscape of civilization.

Just to put this in a little context: I also write about fine art for several magazines. They pay me well. When I write about music, I get, if not zilch, a payment so paltry as to be more symbolic than renumerative. The same pattern holds for the musicians as well: they often lose money by accepting a gig out of town. And yet they are doing more important, more focussed and more rigorous work, in my opinion. The reason it needs to be written about is because their work needs to be understood in the entire context of the cultural and philosophical developments that other art forms apparently inherit automatically. This, despite some excellent recent scholarship in this area by Graham Locke, George Lewis and Mike Heffley. But there's a lot of work that needs to be done for the musicians, and for the sake of the music.

Fax: You've been known to possess a penchant for disc golf, have you ever thought about writing sports journalism?

AC: I actually wrote a piece about all the Aces (hole in ones) that I've thrown in disc golf - describing the situation, the flight, the disc, etc. It's about 3,000 words - I've had 15 aces. I haven't performed it yet, but I'm sure I'll stick it in a reading somewhere down the line.

If I were to write an essay about disc golf, I'd have to start with the baskets - they've got some fundamental design flaws. And yet, some of the one-off baskets I've seen people make on private courses function so much better.

For example, when I recently played in Budapest, we used a "homemade" basket that was designed to adhere pretty closely to the PDGA guidelines (see the second half of this article (PDF) to see what I'm talking about), yet the guys in Budapest made one crucial innovation that I've never seen on other baskets, and which, because it helps the device function so much better, I'm sure would be deemed 'outside of regulation.'

For a young sport with very DIY origins, it baffles my mind that 1) basket design isn't better and more functional and 2) that the PDGA is so rigidly anal about protecting the bad design and discouraging experimentation and innovation. (My theory, and it's pretty obvious when you think about it since every organization and regulatory body functions in this manner, is that the PDGA simply wants to appease the companies that are already manufacturing baskets: Innova, Discraft and DGA already have their equipment setup for the purpose of making these baskets, and the PDGA doesn't want to allow more and better designs to appear because these preexisting companies would either be left behind or have to alter their existing process/ equipment. And since these companies are the main source of funding for the PDGA, the PDGA isn't about to bite the hand that feeds it, so to speak.)

OK, that got away from me a little bit. I told you I had a rant about the subject. That's just the beginning of it; don't let me get started on the actual technical details involved and the history of the sport to consider.

As far as actual journalism about the sport, I will admit to having dreamed of a future where I could be the Vin Scully of disc golf: broadcasting pro tournaments, analyzing disc selection, route strategy, putting techniques, player bios, etc. For me, there is something incredibly compelling about a disc's flight in the air, and it doesn't seem impossible that I could translate the passion I have for the glide, the fade, the angle and the speed of a disc to a more general public. Shit, when I saw portraits of disc throwers on the ancient vases at the Getty Villa recently, I finally realized that disc sports are about as old as they come. For those who appreciate aesthetics as much as athletics, and vice versa, throwing a disc and controlling its flight can be one of life's supreme pleasures.

JR: One note on formally redefining baskets...Andrew and I were recently at a bar in cihangir that claims to operate the worlds first minidiscgolf putt-putt course. Because we had unknowingly stumbled into the joint on a bender, we were unprepared for the site that unfolded before our eyes...

Miniature hills of groomed spices, like a loaded donkey cart in a near eastern spice market, expanded onto the two acre course behind the main area of the bar. At the base of hole one , a watertrap of vinegar, chopped garlic, olive oil, anchovy paste, and cayenne pepper. We immediately knew we needed to try the course out, and asked the bartender in the 'clubhouse' if we could rent some discs. Since we didn't have any cash, I offered him one of Andrews records we'd been carrying along to play on his LP jukebox, some record with a gridded cover of tiny pictures depicting scantclothed, early seventies midriffs and asses on the streets, undoubtedly funky. The bartender obligingly gave us each a tequila shot and a pair of small putting discs made of meat, and sent us back to hole one.

Yeah, the discs were floppy and weird, and they still dripped uncooked meat juice, but my first shot whipped the air with a whirr, then skidded across the hill, kicking up coriander dust and flopping into a little pile of allspice. Andrew, a much stronger player, threw a line drive that looked to be a perfect ace. It tagged the front lip of the basket and spun off, a lurching plop into the marinade trap. When there's only one thing to possibly hit on the course, I have a tendency to misthrow my disc right into it, so my second shot careened straight into a column of salt that looked like a stack of salt licks. Andrew birdied with a burner right into the chains...the marinated meat disc sizzling immediately on the heated basket. I tossed another reckless putt that splattered in an olive oil puddle before bogeying with a decent curver that beckhambent in with another sizzle. As I approached the basket, I realized that the entire base was filled with charcoals that heated the mesh wire basket above and the metal chains. A pair of tongs hung from the side, which we used to peel the now cooked discs from the basket. A bogey never tasted so fine.

At hole two, a caddy named Colin who somehow knew Austin and Haoyan from high school, handed us two flat, thick slices of quince, carved perfectly as discs. The long straight shot ended in the corner, at a windmill. The blades of the windmill were spinning so fast you could barely see them, three or four layers deep, and the hole was right behind these blades. When we tossed the quince discs into the hole, the blades choppeded them into a stream of floating juice and pulp which landed in the cup behind the blades. Since we both birdied, Colin ran up with a little demibaguette and shut the windmill off, congratulatory. We dipped bread pieces into the cup, scooping up a perfect consistency of jam, and headed on. At hole three, we were given kimchi pancake discs which were tossed into a soy and vinegar tray with hanging squid tentacles acting as chains. The discs slammed into the chains and dropped into the tray, and the loose pieces of grilled squid fell onto the disc. Some chick came by in a cart with another tray full of soju, so we drank until it started to rain. The groundskeepers, bill murray-looking caddyshack types, quickly covered the course and play stopped...

We waited in the clubhouse for a longtime, hoping to resume the round. Since the bartender really dug that record, he kept pouring us homemade apricot brandy, and we talked about the course, which he designed. Apparently he too had gotten bored with disc golf orthodoxy and had decided to build the putt-putt course as an alternative. He designed every basket to uniquely suit the hole.

By now it was really late, so we gave this cat mad props and vowed to come back, but since we'd both gotten so drunk, we couldn't figure out where the joint was the next day...wish i could ask that kid Colin, but haven't been able to find him either. But I'm sue we'll come across it again some night, inshallah...

Fax: In 2006, a collection of your writing was published in "Langquage Makes Plastic of the Body". What inspired your title and how do you approach publishing vs. performing?

AC: I wrote down the phrase that became the title for the book one night when I was playing around with alphabet stickers and stencils. I had been thinking about the give and take between the physicality I experience when encountering language/letters and was trying to work through some things. The phrase clarified a lot for me, and made sense as a title since, first, language does make plastic of the body, and, second, what is inside the book is often me making language plastic as a response/reflection of what it does to the body.

The "q" in 'langquage' from the title is also my attempt to visually and physically enact and give form to this uber-quasi-spiral.

The entire title, by itself, succintly addresses and investigates the endless chain reaction at stake/work.

As far as how I approach the difference between publishing and performing, it's an ongoing process. I never realized I could be a performer (or writer - of the kinds of things I want to read -, for that matter) until Jen Hofer asked me to read in "The Moving Word" series of poets and filmmakers she was curating in her backyard in 2006. Since I had nothing to read and had been not only bored but either put to sleep or semi-infuriated by 90% of the readings I had attended, I decided to attempt to write the kinds of pieces that I would enjoy hearing live. It also meant reading my writing live for the first time. So I came up with some things, really enjoyed the performance, and was asked by Jane Sprague, who was in attendance, to put together a book for her Palm Press imprint.

Partly because there was a visual element to this performance (and subsequent "early" performances by me), Jane suggested the possibility of doing a DVD. Keeping in mind my instinctual wariness when it comes to readings, I thought that a DVD of a poetry reading might not be quite as exciting as it sounds (ha!). Not only that, I have an instinctual bias against the predominance of visual culture in our lives, and didn't want to submit language and sounds to its nefarious embrace.

What Jane and I agreed on, though, was that a CD documenting how I read some of the work would be nice. In addition, this ended up giving me room to include things on the CD that wouldn't fit in the confines of a 40 page chapbook. In the end, I structured the relationship so that 1/3 of the book and CD overlap.

Well, that little bit of history is all very well and good you might be saying, but what of the relationship between performing and publishing you're still wondering. Well, one thing I came to realize while working on the CD and doing readings from it after the book came out is how much I enjoy performing, and writing for performance. And since I have a lot more offers to do readings than I do to publish books, I started writing pieces specifically for performance. A dilemma I found is that pieces of my writing that I really liked are not so suitable for the context of performance. I tried reading them anyway, but audiences usually shuffle uncomfortably during those sections - something I don't really mind, in all honesty. But one issue I now have is this: I'm so attached to the performance of some pieces that as I try and put a book together (I'm working on a manuscript now for Writ Large Press) that without a recording, something fundamental seems to be missing.

So let's just say that, right now, it's an unresolved but fruitful tension in my work.

Fax: Do you find tension an inherit/common ingredient for creativity?

AC: Tension is often present in my creative process. I never start from a tabula rasa when I do work; something always stimulates me. When I get ruffled by something, I almost always try and explore it, and while that's not what I would consider a positive stimulus, these rufflings often help me clarify my own vision of what is "good" or "worthwhile", present or absent or confronted/ confrontable in my own work.

I try to follow the stimulus, push it around a bit - both inside me and in an external form - and see what happens. But it often takes time - sometimes years - to think about things and work with them before I can recognize the specific tension, usually inside myself, that keeps me interested in a subject/ stimulus. There are pieces that I've written and published that I still don't know how I feel about - not in terms of good or bad, or like or dislike, but in the sense that I can't say exactly what is going on or what viewpoint the piece is creating. And I would consider those pieces among my most successful - precisely because they offer people, including myself, the chance to grapple with and triangulate the relationship between self, environment and perspective.

Once you externalize something, it has a life of its own.

If I write something and read back over it the same way every time, I know I'm usually not that interested in what is going on. But if I write something that gives me pause when I read it, that makes me ask questions of it and of myself for writing it, then I know that a potentially fruitful tension and dynamic is at work. A good stimulus should create a refracted and fractalized domino-effect of other stimuli.

One tension in effect when even thinking about work in this way is the fact that we live in environments that are hyperstimulated with media. The problem that raises for consciousness and how we hone our consciousness is that we're undernourished in non-media-diven stimulus, and often can't recognize the beautiful presences right in our midst. We're not used to - and not encouraged to think of or recognize - stimuli that aren't contained in packages, whether they're books, downloads, pictures hanging on a wall, etc.

So for me, as someone who generates media, the potentially paradoxical question becomes: how can I generate media that is itself stimulating, and that also stimulates a practice of reading and more deeply interacting with the world, the unmediated world?

It's a tension.

Fax: In your mind, how important is the role of language in our representation of reality and expression of consciousness?

AC: Language is simply one medium among others; I don't give it, or any medium, more respect, primacy or importance than any other.

When I was an undergraduate I got into a discussion with a professor about the fact that it makes no sense, from my perspective, to have language be the only medium used to evaluate the transmission of information and understanding. I don't think writing a paper is always the best way to represent a critical engagement with information. Sometimes creating audio, or a picture or an event, etc. might more accurately and adequately probe the material under review.

As far as representations of reality and expressions of consciousness, we have five senses, and language isn't one of them. It might be a tool that helps us engage with these senses as they confront representations, expressions and the action of creating representations and expressions, but it is just a tool. To think that all of consciousness or experience can be encompassed within the linguistic realm is fallacious.

This isn't to say that I don't value the illuminations and interactions available to language when it approaches other mediums. I do. I've met many artists who feel that language either has no place interacting with other arts or who feel that language is always already inadequate to deal with other arts. The latter perspective, to me, is a semi-natural reaction to the fact that language is often viewed as the sole medium capable of dealing with the other arts. But that perspective itself is what needs to be eradicated: let language do its thing, let other mediums do theirs. There is no hierarchy.

The fact that many people use language as an entryway into other works is simply because it is more readily available. But don't conflate availability with ease of use or definitivity.

There are two issues with language in relation to the representation of reality/ expression of consciousness we're talking about: its critical capabilities and its creative abilities. I don't think anyone would argue that the creative use of language makes it simply one medium among others. But a fundamental problematic emerges if we adopt the perspective that language should be the de facto medium used to think critically about other work. Other mediums offer other critical entrypoints. The idea that "when we think, we think in language" I completely disagree with. There is no linguistic basis for thought. When we think, we think. Period. Critical, creative and analytical thinking can happen in any medium.

The brain processes stimulus, and the way it processes is not necessarily via linguistics.

You might think that because I don't believe in language as the natural medium for critical thinking, that I have something against critics who use it. Not at all. I lose respect for artists who dismiss them; it's like these artists don't want anyone to think about their work. Critics are an easy target because their craft is, generally speaking, practiced so poorly, but that doesn't mean that it's not an important practice. Oscar Wilde's essay on "The Critic As Artist" should be required reading for any artist who takes their craft seriously.

Fax: Any speculations about human beings' spacefaring endeavors away from our spaceship Earth?

AC: I think some of us already voyage beyond earth. There are non-earth-based frequencies that rare beings are able to tune into and tap.

Not that earth and humanity should be dismissed, but the practically monovisioned focus on humans and earthly existence gets tired. I'm not advocating more interest in or investigation of religion, but instead on biology, energy and the flows between. It would be a radical, juvenile mistake to think that other kinds of biology are not at work across galaxies. And just because we're human, and happen to be on this planet, doesn't mean that we aren't or can't be affected by these other flows.

The relentless narcissism that humans project onto other beings is evidenced by the ubiquitous and inane question "Is there life on Mars?" It's a planet, a rock: the thing itself is alive. It takes a very narrow understanding of what life is not to recognize that.

As far as traveling to other planets, etc., I don't think we actually need to go to other planets in order to experience them. And I'm not referencing out-of-body experiences either. Just the fact alone that you have a body on this planet makes it possible that you can connect with things happening on other planets. You simply have to be attuned to the frequencies.

Fax: Do these frequencies ever take forms perceivable by human senses?

AC: Well, if we are strictly talking about the five recognized individual senses, I don't think so. But sometimes senses work together, and I'm not just referring to synesthesia (which certainly is a case of special attunement.) Two senses can work together or a sense can work in tandem with a desire for example. When you layer consciousness and objectively verifiable action with unconsciousness and uncontrollable forces, you are often in the presence of these frequencies. But just because they are around and inside you doesn't mean they are perceivable by you or by one of your senses.

These frequencies are recognized within consciousness but without its aid: you can't seek them out.

Another way of looking at your question would focus on the question of how/ when/ etc. these frequencies "surface in forms." If conscious perception is a solid and the unconscious is a liquid, these frequencies are a gas. And when they surface, they surface gaslike. The entire spectrum between visibility and invisibility is in play. Imagine corresponding spectrums for all the other senses.

Let me give you two examples of socially/ culturally acceptable ways to admit recognition of these frequencies: intuition and momentum. When athletes, sports analysts and broadcasters discuss momentum, they do so in such a way as to shroud it in mysticism, arationality and magic. Considering the social and economic importance we place on sports - it's a regular feature of the news and a multi-trillion dollar worldwide industry etc. - there is a delightful irony in the fact that it so often gets boiled down to something as intangible as momentum.

While athletics and therefore momentum are often coded masculine, the concept of intuition has been coded feminine. Folks who otherwise would be reluctant to recognize the presence of supernatural forces/ non-earthly frequencies seem to have no problem using these terms.

Fax: As a well-respected connoisseur of fine foods & spirits, what is your ideal meal like these days?

AC: Let me tell you about one fantastic meal I had while travelling recently. The cellist Albert Márkos invited me to join he, his wife and Szilárd Mezei for dinner at his home in Budapest. We started the evening with a nice cup of ouzo his wife had brought back from Greece, some cheeses - I liked the herby goat one - and some red wine. Then Albert brought out his improvised and embellished version of moussaka. He had shaved potatoes on the bottom, ground beef on top of that, then peas, then roasted tomatoes and red peppers on top of it all. He had cooked the potatoes, the peas and the meat all separately, with different formations of seasonings, and then put them together and added the red veggies on top. Unbelievably delicious.

Szilárd also gave me a bottle of homemade apricot brandy that is pretty much the best hard alcohol I've ever had. The intensity of the fruit taste is so strong it seeps into your gums and into your mouth in rivulets of flavor that the alcohol opens up. The scent is pure apricot - not apricot essence or oil: just apricot. It is an exceptional apéritif or digestif. I'm drinking it very sparingly so I can share it with as many people as possible. You'll taste it when you come to town!

Another thing I really enjoyed about my meals while traveling was the presence of small bowls of soup to start a meal - usually a thin, clear, well-flavored broth with vermicelli noodles and a small amount of diced vegetables. I really appreciate, even for non-fancy meals, having courses. It emphasizes the time that should be taken and honored when eating. It's about pacing. Flavors and textures over time. Even if only just two "courses," like a soup and an entree. A duration is involved. Let the mouth be played (with) by the food.

Márkos moussaka
Márkos moussaka

Artist Management According To Flo & Eddie

Hambone Kneeslap

Scott Robinson's Stowasser Contrabass Saxophone: An Amazing Instrument

Scott Robinson playing his Strowasser contabass saxophone.
Scott Robinson with his Strowasser contabass saxophone. Photo src: bassic-sax.ca

How much does that baby weigh? I don't think I could even lift it, :) least of all play it!! Scott was a member of Randy Sandke's New York All Stars at the 2008 Bix festival in Davenport.

Enrico was instrumental (pun intended) in helping Scott get the instrument. Here is the story. Quite a story!

The story of how Scott landed this rarest of all items is worth telling.

"About four years ago" Scott reminisced, "I was on tour in Rome with Paquito dRivera United Nation Orchestra. As always, I had been looking through second-hand stores for old instruments but had found nothing. On our last night there, I met a fellow named Enrico Borsetti, and he said to me, I know a second-hand shop that has a giant contrabass saxophone. I was intrigued, but usually when people tell me about a giant saxophone, they are referring to a baritone, so I didn't pay much attention. We were leaving at 6:00 the next morning anyway, so I didn't have a chance to do anything about it. But Enrico said, don't worry, Ill send you pictures.

He did. And lo and behold, it was indeed a contrabass sax. It was setting inside the door of this secondhand shop. The owner had the bell stuffed with umbrellas and artificial flowers, I was petrified it would just get knocked over one day and destroyed, because they moved furniture around in that place all the time. From then on, I was totally crazy. I couldn't think of anything but that horn.

I wrote back to Enrico and said, I have to have this instrument; I absolutely have to have it. That began a long process because the owner didn't want to sell it. He knew it was very unusual, a conversation piece among his customers, and he wanted it to stay where it was.

I am happy to say that my dear friends in Rome made it their mission to get me that horn. Enrico enlisted the aid of another friend, Fausto, who was also an antique dealer. Fausto buddied up to the owner of this shop. The two started going out to lunch, and Fausto would, buy the wine and say, What about that big saxophone? It's falling apart. You don't need it. Somebody needs that horn who can bring it to life. It's of no value to you. Get some money for it while you can. This went on for two and a half years, and finally the guy relented. One day I got a fax from Fausto. He had taken a picture of himself with the horn, and made a big sign that said, FINALLY, We got it, Scott!. I was so happy I wept.

This was August of 1996. But then we had to figure out how to get it over here. Fausto said, don't worry, I have a friend who'll make a crate for it; we'll make some calls and find out about shipping procedures and so forth. But a few weeks went by and logistics proved harder to manage than we thought. Then one Friday morning as I was getting ready to go camping, the phone rang. It was Fausto. He said, meet me at the airport tomorrow. I'm coming with your sax. And he did. We had a huge party in the backyard with champagne and everything. I was beside myself. It's still like a dream; it really is. But sometimes dreams do come true, and I'm happy to say that this dream came true for me.

But even though Scott finally got the saxophone, playing it well has been a challenge. Overall, the horn was in pretty good shape Scott explained. It's an old horn, dating from the 20s, I'd guess. It has a few dents, but not very many, and no keys were missing. But the neck was broken, and I had to patch it with a couple of pieces from a junker baritone, and I can't get it quite right. It's a little sharp, and I have to fight the intonation. I need to shorten the neck slightly, but it's so long and has so many curves in it, that I'm struggling to figure out the puzzle. The other problem is the mouthpiece. I don't have one that quite fits. There just aren't any. I have had some discussions with the Vandoren company, however, for whom I endorse reeds and mouthpieces. They have a gentleman named Jean Paul Gauvin who is a mouthpiece wizard, and he is going to custom-make a mouthpiece for that horn. With a better mouthpiece and a reconfigured neck, Im confident I can get that horn in shape to play anything on it. I want to be able to play ballads with it, to make it sing with a beautiful sound.

Thank you, Enrico

Normal Love - Red Barn Hampshire College Amherst, MA, April 3, 2010

Diamanda Galás - Saint of Pit

Excerpt from The Gray Notebook

Gray Notebook by Alexander Vvendensky

Why are we sitting here like little children,
wouldn't it be better to sit down and sing something,
a song, for instance.

Let's sing the surface of a song.

Once upon a time I walked poisoned down a road,
and time walked in step by my side.
Baby birds sang variously in the bushes,
and the grass lay low in many places.
Like a battlefield in the distance rose the mighty sea.
It goes without saying that is was hard to breathe.
I thought about why only verbs are
subjugated to the hour, minute and year,
while house, forest and sky, like Mongols of some kind,
have suddenly been released from time.
I thought about it and I understood. We all know it,
that action becomes an insomniac China,
that actions are dead, they stretch out like dead men,
and now we decorate them with garlands.
Their mobility is a lie, their density a swindle,
and a dead fog devours them.
Things are like children that sleep in their cradles.
Like stars that move in the sky just a little.
Like drowsy flowers that soundlessly grow.
Things are like music, they stand still.
I stopped. Here I thought,
my mind could not grasp the onslaught of new tribulations.
And I saw a house, like winter, diving.
And I saw a swallow signifying a garden
where the shadows of trees like branches make sound,
where the branches of trees are like shadows of the mind.
I heard music's monotonous gait,
I tried to catch the boat of words.
I tested the word in cold and in fire,
but the hours drew in tighter and tighter.
And the poison reigning inside me
wielded power like an empty dream.
Once upon a time.

Vvendensky (1904-1941) studied art and poetry under the Russian Futurists in Leningrad. He banded together with Daniil Kharms and others to form various avant-garde groups dedicated to theater, poetry and general troublemaking, all of which culminated in the formation of OBERIU (Union of Real Art) in 1928.

György Szabados Interview

György Szabados

The 71 year old Hungarian piano player and philosopher György Szabados is practically unknown to fans of jazz and improvised music who live outside of Eastern Europe. Despite his marginal status in the West and Far East and Beyond, he has appeared on several recordings and concert dates with iconic players like Anthony Braxton, Roscoe Mitchell and Vladimir Tarasov. I was lucky enough to spend a long afternoon with him in the Fall of 2009, and am thrilled to be able to present some of his ideas and history and music to my fellow English speakers.

While Szabados is a piano player first, he is almost equally as well known in Eastern European circles as a spiritual and intellectual godfather to the worlds of improvised music and free jazz. A book collecting several of his essays was published in 2008. This philosophical side of him is wrapped up in his music, of course, but also in his bearing. As violist and composer Szilárd Mezei told me, "Szabados is an artist in everything he does. He thinks and acts very deeply." The breadth of his profundity quickly made itself apparent in just the little time I spent with him; I felt like we could have talked for days.

In order to do exactly what he wanted to do with his music - he could never entertain compromising something so powerful and which he holds so dear -, he has been a practicing doctor for the duration of his career. His first recordings were done in 1962, but his first release, The Wedding, didn't arrive until 1974. What most excites me about his music is how astoundingly unique his compositional sense is, and how it changes so much according to the needs and ideas being worked through in a given piece. Combining his love of Hungarian folk forms with Bartók and traditional European composed music - all under the umbrella and guiding principles of improvisation and jazz - gives his music not an otherworldly quality, but a further-worldly essence.

As a longtime lover of freely improvised music, I was blown away when I first discovered Szabados in 2007. His percussive proclivities and dexterity inside the piano helped me understand that there was an important canon of improvising pianists beyond Cecil Taylor who have directed considerable time to expanding the percussive depths of the instrument. I'm thinking of Englishman Keith Tippett's phenomenal Mujician solo records on FMP; Swiss pianist Irène Schweizer's jawdropping Wilde Senoritas and Hexensabbat LPs, also on FMP; and, more recently, Australian Anthony Pateras' Chasms on Sirr; the Dutchman Cor Fuhler's 7cc in 10 on Geestgronden and Stengam on Potlatch; Englishman Chris Burn's Music for Three Rivers; and all of the Swede Sten Sandell's work. Szabados helps put all these musicians and this particular kind of playing into perspective.

Of course, the best way to approach Szabados' music is from within. For starters, I recommend The Wedding; Adyton; The Sons Turned Into Stags; The Secret History of Events and his solo album Ruttings of the Sacred Phoenix Bird.

This interview with György Szabados was conducted over the course of many hours one mild afternoon in September, in Budapest. It was made possible with the help of Szilárd Mezei, who arranged it, and Szabados' sister, Klára Sarkadi, who translated for Szabados and I, live, as we exchanged thoughts. Also invaluable was the translation assistance of Kati Toth, who painstakingly went over every word of my audio recording of our discussion, and helped talk with me to make sense of both how my English sounds in Hungarian, and how Szabados' Hungarian sounds in English. Without the supreme efforts of these three individuals, I wouldn't be able to present to you this long overdue introduction to English speakers of the extraordinary thoughts of György Szabados.

Andrew Choate: How did you discover jazz?

György Szabados: I was born in a family of musicians. My mother was a singing teacher. I was brought up surrounded by Hungarian traditional music and European music, as well as classical music. In the 1950's, right after World War II, we were schoolchildren when harsh times came for Hungary: we lived in the toughest dictatorship you can imagine. We hated all this. And at nights we listened to Western jazz programs on the radio, like "Music USA" and "Voice of America". This was one discovery. The other one is connected to the band I was in as a teenager. One of the guys in our group lived in the same block as a famous Hungarian water-polo player, an Olympic champion. Well, this athlete - unlike us - could go abroad and visit Western countries. And he loved jazz. Every time he went abroad, he bought and brought home lots of records: music by Ray Anthony, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, and later Bob Brookmeyer, Gerry Mulligan, Benny Goodman, Charlie Parker...

AC: So this was quite a fortunate coincidence.

SzGy: Yes, exactly... We visited this water-polo player and listened to - or rather listened with - all our ears to those recordings. I remembered the music and took it down for my band. And this water-polo player was also trying to get us to play jazz, because he wanted to hear it live when he was at home in Hungary. Anyway, our band was becoming extremely popular among high school students. At each of these secondary schools, there was always a dance on Saturdays at one of them, so we started playing this music each Saturday; lots of people came, lots of young people. Of course, the headmaster, who was a tough Communist, always wanted to give detention and punishments for the students who attended these dances.

AC: Was jazz attempted to be suppressed simply because it was American music?

SzGy: Of course, because of politics: it symbolized freedom. As I have a talent for improvisation, an instinctual feel for it - it's in my blood -, it was a great encounter for me to meet jazz. I of course found a natural affinity for this kind of music. At that time, the world of the joy of improvisation was unknown not only in Hungary but also in other European countries at this time. Here in Hungary everyone always played music only from notes. This is why this encounter was such a strong inspiration. And as all this meant a protest against the totalitarian system, the music itself provided a great feeling: the experience of freedom.

AC: It seems like this discovery of jazz gave you the confidence to feel that the music that was already bubbling away inside you was legitimate, that it had connections with other people and places, hearts and minds.

SzGy: Yes, though I need to add something to this. I composed my own music from the very beginning, and music in the Hungarian tradition was also playing inside me and appearing in my compositions. So after I discovered jazz, I began writing compositions that drew on both traditions. Well, my friends and I had very lively debates about this at this time: it wasn't "pure" jazz because Hungarian melodies come into it...[laughing]

AC: I think the essence of jazz, the way it has developed and grown, it has never been pure. It is a music that takes influences from everything.

SzGy: Jazz is a phenomenon...an ample phenomenon, which bears both the freedom of the future and something ancient in itself. Jazz is an attitude, which is much more than a style.

AC: If jazz was banned, how could you play in public? Did you play in clubs?

SzGy: We played where we could and where we were invited. Our band - and this music itself - was so popular among young people that it could not be totally oppressed. Of course, there was no similar musical movement at that age. You didn't really have the chance to play in clubs - those were banned also. But it wasn't explicitly banned in secondary schools, so we usually played at high school parties, or small concerts in someone's apartment. It's very interesting that up to the point when rock-and-roll emerged, jazz was the popular music; it was what the youngsters loved. But when rock-and-roll came, young people turned away from jazz. There were always two kinds of audiences for jazz - the youngsters who made it popular, and the intellectuals. When rock and roll came in, the popular crowd disappeared but the intellectuals stayed. This was in the early 60s.

However, the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 preceded this. This revolution was a crucial event from all points of view. It did not only affect politics but also arts, social life...everything in Hungary. Hundreds of people were hanged: this was a form of political revenge. Besides it was not only a revolution but also a fight for freedom, which is again very important in connection with jazz. Jazz, as I said, is the voice of freedom. This smashing, gigantic experience made me feel extremely responsible to and for music. From that event on, I understood my own music as a meeting point combining musical traditions with the effect of jazz and human fate. Since 1956, I have considered all the music I compose or play - regardless if it's jazz or not - serious music.

AC: You say that the intellectuals stayed with jazz even after rock-and-roll came on the scene; it seems like contemporary jazz and improvised music finds its biggest audience amongst intellectuals even today.

SzGy: I think that jazz as a phenomenon is the 'epitheton ornans' of 20th century music. It has influenced the music of the whole world and impregnates it even today. This is because an ancient musical thinking gathers ground again through jazz. And this is a smashing affect in a world dominated by hyper-rationalism, since jazz is not the voice of rationalism at all. What is resurrected in jazz is an ancient, holistic attitude connected to the heart and pulsation. It is always personal as it binds and reconnects Heaven and Earth inside us. This is truly sacral; these are sacral depths.

AC: Do you mean that by connecting Heaven and Earth, it sanctifies Earth as well?

SzGy: Exactly. Well, it is our Earth that should be sanctified, isn't it?

AC: Tell me about your first recordings - the earliest ones I know are The Wedding, from 1974, and the recently issued live document from 1973, Baltás Zsoltár.

SzGy: My first recordings were freely improvised music, in 1962, which at that time seemed to be incomprehensible. But this also has antecedents. I also gave an absolutely freely improvised music concert first in 1962. This happened at a club in Budapest, the only jazz club in Hungary at those times, which was closed later because the American ambassador went there frequently...Ha! Still, my first concert for the public was at this club, where I was accompanied by a bass player named Endre Publik. But I didn't know what "free improv" was - I just played. Of course, I also improvised freely at home all the time...

AC: Yes, this is, after all, the way music has been made for centuries: you improvised. This is the way music is born...

SzGy: I do agree. Well, this concert had awful consequences then... Extremely critical articles came out, they said I was destroying music and this should be abolished forever because this equals the death of music. But we - me and a few of my fellow musicians - got into such a blessed state because of this free music, that we feel it still today. We were pregnant with enthusiasm for this music and how it made us feel, so there was no way we could stop. I practically got into a trance when playing. I felt that this is the real origin of music; this is the way that leads to unity and comes from unity, that is: One-ness. Then I started working on it. I learnt classical music, music history, and the science of music as well. That is, I practiced and prepared myself in order to make music on a professional level. This way I became aware of the ancient nature of improvised music and how it had disappeared for a long time, and at the same time I also knew that it is also the music of our age, that it was the right music to fit with our epoch. I also wanted to experience and understand the spiritual side of it: this is why I started to deal seriously with Greek and modern philosophy, all kinds of religion - Buddhism, the Vedas, etc. - so I could make myself a complete person, and be intellectually and spiritually well-informed.

AC: Do you have any recordings from these early times?

SzGy: There is an unbelievable amount of recordings. You know, I established a certain "school" where I intended to initiate the musicians who were interested in opening their minds into this universe of music. This work of 30 years was recorded, but in secret, because these were prohibited. But these were all recorded poorly, on cassettes. However, Radio Hungary (MR) also made plenty of recordings, but these were not accessible for a long time. I have only recently received a few recordings from the archives, all of which were banned previously.

In the meantime, I graduated as an MD; this was my father's wish. This was so that I could make a living for my family and myself. But through all those times I was living in music, and in this way I could remain autonomous both musically and mentally. And also, this way, I could clearly form the music I felt I needed to give birth to: I didn't have to worry about making money from it. But because I was sovereign and making whatever kind of music I wanted to, my music was banned. At this time and place you could only work and influence people if you made the necessary compromises, but I could not compromise with my music. Thus, we have a collection of recordings from the time when this music was prohibited which we intend to publish now, through GYŐR FREE. We are trying to figure out, now, how to bring these recordings out, since they are under state control through Radio Hungary.

AC: Are all the recordings still under state control? Were these practically hidden?

SzGy: Not the private ones. However, the state and the Radio ordered different pieces from me, when I became officially 'tolerated.' (Nowadays cultural policymakers try to compensate and admit certain things - they've started to grant me prizes... ) None of these recordings for Radio Hungary were ever published, though. Instead, they were all kept secret, in the hands of the state. In the meantime a few recordings were successfully saved; these are the ones that we intend to publish now. Besides this, there existed another source of recordings: quite a few young people went from concert to concert with their tape recorders and 'documented' these concerts. Such recordings are also extremely useful today. They meant a secret solution at that time; we are now systematizing and archiving these materials.

AC: It seems that several things are happening at the same time in many of your compositions. Adyton [1983], for example, blends powerful silences with Hungarian music, symphonic music and jazz.

SzGy: This is true. Well, Adyton is a story on its own, a separate book could be written about it... Even the title has a double meaning. On the one hand, in ancient Greek, it means the inner sanctuary of the human spirit. On the other hand, it includes Ady's name - Endre Ady was an extremely influential Hungarian poet. His personality and poetry were so comprehensive that they concerned unbelievable dimensions. He lived through the hell of the first World War: the first huge collapse. And during all those disastrous times - and maybe exactly because of that - he always addressed his words toward heaven, toward unity. And for me, deep inside, I am practically always motivated and occupied by this struggle, this opposition of falling apart and recuperation, the sense of entropy and destruction versus the need to make things come together. This is a foundation of my aesthetic, and I think also of our epoch: a tension between disastrous things happening and idealistic efforts of recovery and creativity in response. The sounds - the sonority of all this - is always manifested in my music.

As for the Hungarian motifs - there is a very simple reason for them: my voice - my song - can only be Hungarian since I am Hungarian. At the same time, the outside world - the whole globe - lives in an abhorrent welter. And not only lives but also burns. The sense of what I mean by this burning is extremely important; I think Coltrane is analogous to this in American jazz. He's the one at whom you can detect the moment when the jazz musician becomes a sacred musician. He left the world of jazz standards and started to study Indian Ragas - this was his last great period. The moment he started working this way, he was not only living the music, but also burning - which is what we all must do if we are to survive the abhorrence: burn: use the desperate destruction around us as fodder for our own communication with the beyond. Coltrane 'ascended' to heaven in this way and became intellectually complete - and his music became eternally...serious.

György Szabados, Adyton, 1983

György Szabados - "Adyton"

AC: "Serious" is a good word to use in this context, much better than 'experimental.'

SzGy: Well, one thing I object to in contemporary music is that much of it is about nothing, the Nihil - it doesn't take itself seriously. The place for 'experiment' is in a school's lab. But art is not an experiment. The music that can burn in unity and omniscience is something that can maintain human spirit and humanity as such. This is an ethical issue for the artist - of course not only in music but also in literature and in all the arts. This is why "Adyton" lives inside me as a shrine, as an altar with wings.

AC: Let me ask about your record The Secret History of the Events. A man can be heard singing on the record. Who is he and what kind of language is he singing in?

SzGy: He's Kobzos Kiss Tamás, a Hungarian singer and musician. "The Secret History of the Events" is an historical song - this genre used to be widespread in Europe and Asia, but with the spread of recorded media - radio, television, etc. - it died out. Wandering musicians and artists were the source of these historical songs - playing music from town to town telling people stories of great heroic deeds and battles and other important news.

The revolutionary struggle in Hungary in 1956 was such a heroic event, and yet it was prohibited to talk about, sometimes even within families - people would say "the walls have ears" - because if you were caught, you could be imprisoned. So this piece is in that style, and about this event. And because it was still prohibited to talk about this, my composition had to be written in an encrypted code. I wrote the story in Hungarian and then the lyrics and the music were transformed into another invented language according to a certain code. The coded language is a certain meta-language - as we were under Eastern rule, it has some of the structure of an Eastern language. When we performed this piece, we were secretly celebrating this event. The singer spent a long time studying in order to perform this difficult text.

Another interesting thing is that although there are some fixed parts, a great deal of the manipulated piano play is improvised, and even the way the language is sung uses improvisation. I consider this piece as one establishing a unique musical language within the frames of an extreme totalitarian system. The dictatorship was hard, that's why this piece has a certain toughness: the story could not be told in a classic or romantic style - it could only be told in this way.

AC: Your MAKUZ orchestra reminds me of great groups like Sun Ra's Arkestras, the ICP and Globe Unity - big bands that directly focused on large ensemble improvisation and direction. What is the history of MAKUZ?

SzGy: Well, the name of the ensemble is an abbreviation. It means: Hungarian Royal Court Orchestra. This is a statement, a position. And an attitude. When we reached a point at which everybody could see and comprehend this aspect, then it became obvious that we had to distinguish ourselves from the whole political circus in Hungary. We were turning the ideas of kings and politics upside down by creating an orchestra and workshop that was about freedom and egalitarianism rather than about kings in control and political courts where whatever the king says rules: no. We were all making sounds and learning from each other, and this is what true "royalty" should be about, in a more majestic, eternal and natural sense.

We have been working under the name of MAKUZ since 1982: we took their name, implanted our own ideals inside it, and acted upon them, expressing this new way of thinking with our music. When I announced the name of the group to the musicians in the orchestra, they somehow started to play differently, working even harder. It was truly interesting.

AC: You had other bands before MAKUZ. Why did you form MAKUZ?

SzGy: Yes, I had a septet, an octet, a quintet before - but these were all smaller bands. MAKUZ became crucial both on a personal and on an instrumental level. By that time I knew whom I really wanted in my band, who would be good to play with and collaborate with. We had been working hard for a long time building the foundations of our own personal and yet common, freely improvised music. This way the base became so strong - and yet so clear and transparent - that when we needed to work with another musician, it was easy for the 'outsider' to fit in. We were building quite a singularity, a singular musical force and expression in such a way that the music shaped itself: it was powerful enough to become its own living thing and sweep us along with it. At the same time I got to know how to assemble composed music and free improvisation into an organic, living unity. Last but not least, this orchestra became the artistic symbol of the mental and spiritual consciousness of an ancient yet always revolving culture.

AC: A lot of people in the US first came across your name from your collaborations with people in the AACM - Roscoe Mitchell, Anthony Braxton, etc. How did you meet and start to play with these guys?

SzGy: Leo Smith was in Hungary playing on the same bill as me; he played in a trio after I played a solo. He liked my music so much he bought my album "The Wedding" and gave it to Braxton to listen to. (Braxton told me this story later.) Braxton liked the music and said he wanted to play with me. Later, when he was in Austria, he organized a concert across the border in Győr, Hungary. My trio was also playing at this concert and, while we were playing, Braxton got so excited he grabbed his saxophone and joined us onstage spontaneously! At another concert, after I played solo, Braxton came down and we played some pure improv, and then he asked me to do a record with him, which became Szabraxtondos [Krem, 1985].

Andrew Choate with György Szabados
Andrew Choate with György Szabados

Sequenced Drone

Super Head Documentary

The Unstrument

from bingselfish.com

The Unstrument film poster

"The Citizen Kane of the Coalition Era"

- Ed Baxter

"Wonderful garbage"

- Maggie Thomas

On a planet of water called earth, Jason Creep, an insane experimental artist believes he has invented the ultimate instrument: The Unstrument.

His beloved creation is stolen. He hires two down-at-heel private dicks, an extraterrestrial and a twelve year old boy, to look into the case.

Their investigations will set them adrift in a crazy world of sound and chaos where noise terrorists, global conglomerates, festival organisers, sound sculptresses and Tyrolean circuit bending saxophonists thrive in a jungle of petty jealousies, pretension and blind ambition.

For anyone with musical taste the future is looking bleak.

Murder, mayhem, music and mystery abound in The Unstrument, a major new full length motion picture from the imaginative psyche of Libre Albedrío.

Interview with Jordi Hanley, star of The Unstrument

How did you get involved with Libre Albedrío?

Can't really remember how, just wish I hadn't.

What was your favourite moment in the shooting of the film?

Jason's death.

Least favourite moment?

Shooting the beach scenes: six weekends of stress.

How much did you get paid?

A lifetime's supply of paperweights.

Were the directors sympathetic and understanding?

Well, as I shouldn't say anything bad about SuNray 'cos he's my dad, he was both sympathetic and understanding. As for Selfish, he was the complete opposite.

What's your favourite film?

The Cabinet of Dr Caligari.

What's your favourite TV programme?

Monty Python/Fawlty Towers.

What's your favourite food?

Fishsticks and Waldorf salad.

What's your favourite drink?

A screwdriver with one of those little umbrellas.

What's your favourite school subject?

Avant garde music.

How did you do in your most recent exams?

No comment.

Where do you stand politically on the Palestinian question?

My lawyer's Palestinian and my agent's Jewish.

Do you like sport?

Yep, especially running uphill and beach fighting.

If you have a free afternoon, how do you spend it?

With my psychoanalyst.

Would you like to do another film?

With Libre Albedrío? Forget it!

If you could have a picnic anywhere, where would you have it?

In El Garraf, of course.

Which planet would you visit if you had a choice and who would be your travelling companion?

The stranger's planet with Rose Tyler.

Yuri Suzuki - Colour Chaser

Phoebe Legere - Sneakers of Samothrace

Doug Aitken - We

Moments In Love Subway

Daniel Pineda - Batalla De Las Lenguas

Trish's Mind Bending Motorway Mix

Trish Keenan from Broadcast passed away on Friday 14th January 2011, she was an amazing, talented woman and will be missed by many.

In December 2010 Trish sent me a mix CD she compiled, I never thanked her. Its called Mind Bending Motorway Mix and I want to share it with you, please pass the link on, share it far and wide, its a little tribute to a (as a friend referred to her today) exhilarating woman.

Sorry I don't have a tracklist and to be honest I like it that way. I think its less about who you're listening to on this compilation and more about the fact you are listening to something that Trish took time to select and compile for me and in turn yourselves. Please just enjoy the music.

I would send stuff to Trish every now and then and she would send bits back to me (I have a pile of films about witches that inspired the last lp with Focus Group still to watch). The last thing she sent me was this mix and the Ghost Box 7 inch with Focus Group. It was a lovely gift and my friends and I listened to it on our way to ATP in December. Anyway I was rubbish, crap excuse of being busy and moving home (but how much time does a text message take?) so I never thanked her for it until last Sunday, by which time she would have been in hospital. I'm sure she knows how much I appreciated the CD and reading everyones reactions to it has been overwhelming, she touched so many lives. I miss her and will continue to do so for a long time, but my thoughts are with James and Trish's family, I can't imagine what they are going through. Never miss an opportunity to say thank you or I love you because you'll never get that moment back.

Thanks for listening and for all your positive comments.

Etude 6, On Notes

Etude 6 by People Too Etude 6 by People Too On Notes by People Too On Notes by People Too
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