. . . on Philippine bamboo jaw harp (kubing).
powered by ODEO
(Indulge me — I just bought a new microphone!)
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
. . . on Philippine bamboo jaw harp (kubing).
powered by ODEO
(Indulge me — I just bought a new microphone!)
So, you mean that’s you playing that thing?
Uh, yeah.
I hear you’re no slacker on the spoons, either.
No, I’m not much of a spoonist (or a Spoonerist, for that matter).
Have you ever tried to splay the porks?
I’m afraid my kitchenware isn’t that diverse. It would be more of a flaying.
Thrilling!
Awesome!
A revelation.
Satisfying.
Surely you jest.
Well. I jhad ust churned out 12 fulsome, verging on sarcastic Christmas thank you notes, so my barrel was hot and ready to shoot. But. I played your sounds repeatedly on my little laptop while holding the silver dollar-sized speaker to my ear and was massaged AND enscorcelled! I may be the drunk old guy sitting in the corner at your readings calling for more. And while my threshold for entertainment may say more about me than you, I found the hauling of your breath, the rigging of your jerking fingers, the gap of ambience between your having finished playing and when you stopped recording all very stimulating, funny and rich, my first experience of your bodily presence. When a friend’s child picks out a melody on our piano, or my brother performes a wowingly dynamic and well turned out blues song on vocals, guitar and harmonica, it is all in a way the same. I could only begin to hint at the information that travelled through that small room that was made where I was in audience to your scrambling hands and struggling mouth when I held my computer to my ear.
Oh, and it’s great material too. I love the conspirational drop in pitch down to the summary chorus: “well we..”; then there is the following rise back to the particulars of the narrative. That always gives me chills. It’s as if Mr. Horton had sat down next to me, or had collared me when he dips into that chorus, and when done he rises up and steps away to contiue with the story. The bareness of your aural sketch highlights these dual modalities, though I am not sure I have distinguished them properly, I just know there is a difference that matters, and when you very evidently end with the lower pitched chorus, I know I am not where I had started out from. I have been somewhere.
How’s that for poop!
Well, I was just thinking about the killings in New Orleans lately. You know. And that song is one of the few I’ve found that sounds good in the rather narrow harmonic range of the kubing.
I am afraid I don’t have knowledge of current affairs and I know nothing of recent events in New Orleans. Sorry to hear about this.