I have attended three nights of music since Tuesday, so new reviews have been on the back burner. There will be several and soon.
Last night, in a pissy mood following immersion in a six hour block of hipster socializing and some depressingly mediocre music, I came home and re-read B.H. Friedman’s introduction to Morton Feldman’s Give My Regards To Eighth Street. Friedman is evaluating his selections for the volume, inclusions and exclusions, and refers to his sense of overwhelm:
I feel much as Lytton Strachey must have when, facing the ‘great ocean of material’ that became Eminent Victorians, he rowed out to ‘lower down into it, here and there, a little bucket, which will bring up…some characteristic specimen.’
I have amassed quite a queue of material to review; I hope to bring up a few specimens soon. This state of aversion to music passes, if past experience is an augur. The last time I felt this way, I jettisoned my blog zero into the aether. I think a long drink of near silence will be medicine. Thanks for reading.
Give My Regards To Eighth Street: Collected Writings of Morton Feldman, B.H. Friedman, ed.