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Michigan Tour Diary — Day 14 

Dmitri Matheny Group JAZZ NOIR
Michigan Tour Diary — Day 14
April 24 Midland, Linden

Gave two Melodic Mastery jazz improvisation workshops today:
a morning clinic at Herbert Henry Dow HS in Midland,
and an afternoon session one hour south at Linden HS in Linden.

I love presenting these workshops at high schools and colleges around the country.
It's such a pleasure to hear and meet so many talented young musicians,
encourage them in their development as jazz soloists and ensemble players,
and pass along some of what I've learned about music and life from Art Farmer.

Friday night is our final Michigan performance at
the legendary Cliff Bell's in downtown Detroit.
It's my first time at the celebrated venue, and
I'm really looking forward to the show.

It's been one hell of a tour:
In 2 weeks we did 13 gigs (4 performances, 9 workshops),
covering over 3,000 miles throughout the state of Michigan.

With Sassy behind the wheel, we made it safely through snow, ice and rain,
along many crocodile-cracked and pothole-laden roads,
past big stands of scrubby winter oak, hickory, maple and pine trees,
across icy bridges over rivers and muddy fields of grass and cattail,
beside frozen grey lakes that stretched to the horizon.

We drove through dozens of picturesque towns and weary cities
with names like Arcadia, Cadillac, Pontiac, Garfield, Gaylord, Inkster and Ypsilanti,
each name proudly emblazoned on a water tower beside the lonesome road.

We saw wild turkeys, black crows, seagulls, nervous deer,
fat squirrels, badgers, beavers, possums, all manner of roadkill,
and curiously, dozens of giant wooden bears, carved by chainsaw.

We saw clapboard houses with green shutters and wrap around porches,
antiques dealers, country stores, machinist shops, Christmas tree farms,
trailer parks, modular homes, farmhouses and churches,
ramshackle barns, silos, low stone walls,
and lone brick chimneys where houses used to be.

Michigan Tour Diary — Day 3 

Dmitri Matheny Group JAZZ NOIR
Michigan Tour Diary — Day 3
April 12 Traverse City MI

On a rainy Saturday night in the warehouse district of Traverse City, Michigan,
a killer jazz band plays classic film noir themes for a roomful of attentive, enthusiastic listeners.

The atmosphere is alive. Everyone feels it.
The musicians, audience, sound man, bartender, everyone.

The bandleader, a big, bespectacled, beret-wearing horn player,
looks around the room and smiles.

'This is it,' he thinks.

'It doesn't get any better than this.'

Photo by Myrna Jacobs

IN THE EMERALD CITY 

It's so satisfying to be back in the soulful city of Seattle, sitting in a cafe, enjoying a great cup of coffee, listening to the rain.

On the wall across from me is a Michael Dailey original, one of his spectacular landscape-inspired abstractions. I've always loved his work. These color field paintings are particularly arresting, like desert sunsets, yet somehow evocative of the Pacific Northwest. Similar to Mark Rothko, Georg Gudni and Hiroshi Sugimoto, Dailey was able to conjure atmospheric windows to a misty horizon, conveying a sense of longing for something just out of reach.


RAIN by Don Paterson 



I love all films that start with rain:

rain, braiding a windowpane

or darkening a hung-out dress

or streaming down her upturned face;

 

one big thundering downpour

right through the empty script and score

before the act, before the blame,

before the lens pulls through the frame

 

to where the woman sits alone

beside a silent telephone

or the dress lies ruined on the grass

or the girl walks off the overpass,

 

and all things flow out from that source

along their fatal watercourse.

However bad or overlong

such a film can do no wrong,

 

so when his native twang shows through

or when the boom dips into view

or when her speech starts to betray

its adaptation from the play,

 

I think to when we opened cold

on a starlit gutter, running gold

with the neon of a drugstore sign

and I'd read into its blazing line:

 

forget the ink, the milk, the blood –

all was washed clean with the flood

we rose up from the falling waters

the fallen rain's own sons and daughters

 

and none of this, none of this matters.

LOVE 



"I have loved to the point of madness;
That which is called madness,
That which to me, is the only sensible way to love."
—Françoise Sagan

"Love is an irresistible desire
to be irresistibly desired."
—Robert Frost

"Love all, trust a few,
do wrong to none."
—William Shakespeare

"When love is in excess, it brings a man
no honor nor worthiness."
—Euripides

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts,
there can be no more hurt, only more love."
—Mother Theresa

"The ultimate choice for a man,
in as much as he is given to transcend himself,
is to create or destroy, to love or to hate."
—Erich Fromm

"I love lamp."
—Brick Tamland

LEARNED FROM A RAINSTORM 



"There is something to be learned from a rainstorm. When meeting with a sudden shower, you try not to get wet and run quickly along the road. But doing such things as passing under the eaves of houses, you still get wet. When you are resolved from the beginning, you will not be perplexed, though you still get the same soaking. This understanding extends to everything."
—Ghost Dog
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