3 May 2016
somebody can hear someone playing Beethoven's moonlight sonata, and fucking up occasionally but pulling through, and hear that in entirely different ways. Maybe they hear it as a sad piece of music made even sadder by this demonstration of a performer who once had facility but is now tragically eroded. Or maybe they hear it as the fits and starts of a person recovering from a calamity, filling the hippocampus with laboured breath, slowly lighting those long dark neutral paths and persevering and finding his strength again.
The Deon family is neat and nuclear: Dad's in the driver's seat, Mom's in the passenger seat, Alison and Jonathan, five and sev...
I'm working out new ways to perform and record. They take the form of melodic fragments, half-assed renditions of half-remembered songs,...