Seneca Lake, May 9, 2010.
The power is still out at the Seneca lake cottage. It's been off since some time yesterday evening. None of the powered clocks were right to begin with which makes it hard to guess what time the flow was cut. They say it will be back on later today. It's unfortunate that the owners left no candles or flashlights. It is fortunate that I had a car, however not built for off-roading and in need of an alignment it is.
I slept poorly with the wood creaking and wind whipping at tornado-watch speed, branches and birds bouncing off the windows. It was 36 degrees outside and without electricity to provide heat only a few degrees warmer within. Groggy and still recovering from hallucinatory dreams I've opted for a day in civilization. A civilization in the sense that these hippies and academics have crafted. I really appreciate what they have here and I like conversations with the locals.
Today's accomplishments are minimal and will likely remain so. I purchased some eggs and beef at the sparsely stocked farmer's market. $3 for a dozen free range eggs is more than fair. Why are these half the price of their city stockists' and the beef double? I'd hoped to find fresh meat rather than frozen but this is what's offered and I do not know where else to search.
To further kill time I've sampled espressos. Gimme does it well. Better than its NYC siblings and the competitors in town. The sprightly barista has worn the same spaghetti-strapped top in all of her shifts the three times I've been here. She's cute. She says the Asian food is good in town. I have trouble believing this. I question her character.
The Friends of the Ithaca Library is holding a huge book sale this week. I purchased books today. After chatting with the giggly old woman at the door I rummaged for the arcane. I found a 1910 translation of the Analects of Confucius. Early 20th century O. Henry and Faulkner short story collections. An Thomas Cleary translation of The Flower Ornament Scripture in beautiful condition for a great price. It's a book that I'm not familiar with but a translator whose work I regard very well. His edition of The Art of War is brilliant. This Sutra book had a peculiar presence that I couldn't avoid. I thought about coming back for the book on another day but this seemed too good a deal to pass. I haven't paid so much for any book since college. At the worst it will fetch a profit by selling it online. I can't imagine how long it took to translate. I may not read it, let alone finish it, any time soon but feel wiser already knowing that I can.
Tonight I hope the power is back. After talking with BBS about music on the drive to drop him at the bus station in town yesterday I walked away with some insight and ideas. We are both musicians but there is such a gap between our views on what it is, can be, should be and does. I am perhaps overinfluenced. When I drove back to Seneca Lake last night I found a good line for the ever-developing Warmonger song while thinking about the idea of pulling melody from riffs. I have plenty of riffs, plenty of beats. These things are in the nature of rhythm musicians.
In conversation about using lines and leads BBS said trying to include them in places where they don't fit could be easily remedied by saving them for later, something many rhythm players do. We all have lines in our heads. We all have desires to use them. I never thought that I don't have to do so until now.
Listening to BBS sing when piloting Logic for his recording on the Celebrity track I'm amazed at his talent. I've sat in on many sessions, heard many singers, and known an abundance of musicians over the years. His voice isn't silken, pop-sensible or typical for singers but I've never heard anyone sing quite so naturally and apparently effortlessly. He says he doesn't concern himself with trying to keep up with the current scene, that his music is from a place internalized. To focus on the self is all that's needed. It's so simple. It's so intimidating. I should try it. I should have tried it long ago.
It was a bit disappointing to come home to the cold and darkness. I couldn't play and there wasn't even candlelight to sketch out tunes. These are convenient excuses aiding procrastination.
I have two more days of solitude in which to fish out a singing ability in the comfort before I have to do it within BBS's earshot. If I can just get this tune sketched out and formed I'll have made a leap into a whole new world and potential for my music. It's just a matter of getting there. Why is it so hard? What am I waiting for?