This is a blog generally about woodworking and artistic implications of materials science, and life in the hinterlands. It is almost never about my personal tastes of food, entertainment or politics, my faith, or non-artisanal things that merely amuse me.  I make no great effort to hide them either, they just are not the main point.

That said, as I sit working quietly at the compewder on this almost-wintry afternoon, waylaid by a virulent and first-ever bout of vertigo for almost a week now,  I am utterly enchanted by this sometimes-whimsical Bill Frisell Group concert at Lincoln Center(?)  It is majesty on display, purveyed with astonishing restraint by understated masters of the art form (as opposed the the smash-mouth brashness of another of my regular musical companions, SRV).  Seriously, when was the last time you saw a non-symphonic percussionist reading a score?

Frisell is featured prominently on one of my “desert island” albums, Fluid Rustle by Eberhard Weber.  I first heard Fluid Rustle in the early 80s and it is a rare week that I do not listen to it a time or two.  As they might say, “I could listen to Frisell play the phone book.”  Proof of that is in the hands of these maestros, even themes from James Bond movies somehow transcend the dreck that they are.

When it comes to non-destructive, non-transcendent choices you make I can be pretty sanguine, but if you cannot appreciate this, then, my friend, you are a barbarian.

Sometimes I break even my own rules.


Now back to our regularly scheduled blogging.