Notes on orchestration 1. Repeat the bass at the base of the stairs, Daddy stares and composes his chaconne in the shotgun house (one two three, one two three), one…
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I have this theory: every queer person remembers a coming-out that impacted their own. On July 4, 2012, Frank Ocean published a two-paragraph note on Tumblr—a screenshot of it, actually,…
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& there’s a lake/ & at the bottom you’ll find all our friends/ they don’t swim ‘cause they’re all dead where did you learn to float? wish i could tell…
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photo: Incongruous Activities, Jasmine Dreame Wagner 1 In the Aughts, coffee shop soundtracks were wet with reverb. I wondered if the music would sound so deep, so profound, if the production…
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I cannot say he knew the clue he gave. The piece seems simple: its note-chord-chord bass a rudimentary skill would not trip over is overlaid with minor melodies – Legato,…
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Photo by Andrew Schwartz – © 2014 The Weinstein Company. All rights reserved. There is this one question that makes me uncomfortable when people get around to asking it. I…
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all i could play was d & g with broken guitar string we played so gritty i couldn’t tell who was who you sang down in pawn hard rock &…
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Written to the track “Funeral Pyre” by Julien Baker Recently, a new artist I had fallen in love with was Julien Baker. The first conversation I had with a new friend…
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Something happened when the flutes accompanied the rains; And the french horns gently followed the vast grass plains; and told of something rotten in the pride lands When I heard…
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blondie doesn’t know this but a heart can be made of wood as well as flesh and glass. a tree’s heart is shy pulp. their bodies are improbable, obscure, sealed…
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Have you ever listened to a song so much the recognition leaves you raw, nauseated, gasping with the fullness of imagined intimacies? Lately I can’t stop playing “Switch Sider” by…
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Around 1985, I had a brief and mainly imagined love affair with Richard Muggie, a classmate at PS23. The affair happened to the melody of pop songs and between recess…
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Sunday is gloomy My hours are slumberless Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless Little white flowers Will never awaken you Not where the black coach Of sorrow has…
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image: Dayton Daily News Archive (MS-458), Special Collections and Archives, Wright State University I get into the habit of playing Abbey Road before work. One morning, the artificially cheery “Help!”[1]…
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