ryan blotnick band… free association friday night… new york

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ryan blotnick. photo courtesy of valerie bischoff.

ryan blotnick band… with jacob sacks… cornelia street café… 5 february 2010

by david st.-lascaux

this… is… the life… walk a block to the underground… the velvet curtain… red vinyl wall-length bench… the stage… the bell of the sax… the cymbals and the snare… electric jazz guitar trombone grand piano bass… youve memorized it all… another friday nite… new york… its grand I say what ten bucks buys you in utopia… just short of you-know-what… just sit back and pretend that you have money youth and power… or whatsoever else you do… cause here we go…

so this is new york friday night just pick a year pick any year… say any year since 59… when he was feelin kinda blue… it feels so good tonite… if you would be so good… I think… to just… to be… to not to think on money… will this help me not think on money… not think on anything… to fly me to the moon dear… friday night new york… the best place on earth if you like warm bodies tuned to grand pianos… to big horns… to drums… and cymbals… sax… and is there somewhere… you know… sex… why yes there is… and if she doesnt like this… well… then you know… please forgive me… «forget her» (and likewise if he doesnt, girl)… il n’est pas nécessaire… this stuff effuses universal love… just take her out to this and youre so laid… its factual… you could tell by the look on her face when she peered at me… but she was most assuredly with him… young buck and lucky duck… and here comes ryan on guitar… and tho he isnt django… with his extra fingers and his plaidish shirt… in a way he «is»… genetically… heptonal why cuz hes alive… he might’ve studied heidigger or husserl… who cares… im lookin at the abalone… the pearl frets… the musics lookin in my head… it sees a swirling sea… a six-string talkin stick… and the bass player knows exactly what we need… and he delivers… what year is it… in boh-heem-ya? its ambient not ambien… and theres the young one with the curly hair… she has… it turns out… eyes… (she puzzles into mine…) for me… she should… only she doesnt and willnt ever know it… I wonder what she reads… if she could only read my mind…

so this is how the world spins… the music swirling in our heads… these guys are good…

i must confess that i don’t get rotating jazz… the soloists… except conceptually… its classic modern music… like classic rock… american industrial painting… homer… hopper… copland… coltrane… coleman… from the bygone age of human intervention… when humans touched their instruments… the relict Haptic Era… of human mouth and finger kissing holding curvy metal… wood… the bodies… and this young woman she intuits this… so most assuredly and wants to have herself be played like this… with passion… with intensity… with total concentration… adeptly… and these guys are good… they make the mellow sound… the sound of soul… the modern interstice… between the occupations… engagements of the transient… the physical continuum… post-existential players… of the night… the new york night… they play the night away…

we lived theyll say in twenty ten… we knew so little… wanting to be taken far away… please take us far away… anywhere but here… who on earth would want to be «here»? is it better there… where youre taking us… why yes it always is… thats jazz… now listen… it may not «actually» be but at least it isnt here… if you know what i mean… in which case you havent lived too long… so lucky… you… hey… its friday night in new york… of course its dark… its black… its nighttime… night new york time… g effing d and this is paradise… someone better tell the others… coming in… send signals from the avant-garde… the mellow low note tenor sax… the mellow high note tenor sax… the drumbeat «is» a heartbeat… and this is no cliché… its getting mellow time… they take us trekking through saharan sands… our africa… our pilgrimage… three million years those little genes… to get here on this new york winters night… were living through the infinite deluge… the age of trivia and talking heads… and typing hands… theyll brand it… out a doubt…

six guys play jazz in the village friday night… her boyfriend wears a vest! and a tie… he looks so wholesome… and shes right up against him… warm a lively human state… we… quick… forget the cold… so shes adjacent… lucky night… to groove on the pianos tripping keys… bill evans ghost… and probably prousts if he could play piano forte…

then threnody… dum dum dah dum…  its not purcell… its chopins marche funèbre… but still this bright pinkwood guitar it tells you its alright.. that lifes for living… forget the money… except for wine and cover charges…

you get to hear the tenor sax… live in his notes… his rightbrain mind… his fingers and his lips… (his embouchure…) a better use of them than osculation? and just what «am» i wishing here? another day… another night in old new york…

more mellowness… so lets get down… lets just go down… just take it slow… lets fall a thousand miles down to new orleans to deep deep south… to sultry summer somnolence well sing the trombone blues… the living ever easy… the couple sitting side by side… theyre living it tonight… just go slow… maybe another life… to live like this and meet a jillion million girls… to have a mellow mind… and every time will be just perfect… like this music for the mellow… just give me just another life… oh baby you so want to know… its friday in new york… we all wear clothes not costumes… and this a subtle kind of showbiz that you listen to with just your mind… your ears… your intellect… alone again g*dammit… youve always gotta pay attention…and even then… who knows… youll probably end up solo… solo… playing solo… not these guys… one plays piano… slide trombone… and drums… guitar… and bass…. and sax… they wail… they cook… they do the things they do… they have it… together…

so i ask you… just what is the proper role of the bass viol… of its strings… its human lover… his hunched intent embrace… his fingering… these guys sure know how to close a set with jesu effingham aitch alleluiah christ on a ragin river raft etc… thats saxual… so do ya do ya do ya do the trombone messin in your ear not effin round that sound… and di di dah… and di di doo… youll recognize that language too… in upbeat major chord guitar… just play it smooth…

my nephew thinks he has to choose between medicine and violin… he chooses music… america… you have to choose between flesh and your soul… what kind of choice is that… theres only art… and new york says… just forget the rest… they close with «promenade»… these guys are good…

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the ryan blotnick band is jacob sacks, piano; ryan blotnick, guitar, compositions; bill mchenry, saxophone; curtis fowlkes, trombone; rj miller, drums; perry wortman, bass
http://www.ryanblotnick.com/

cornelia street café
http://www.corneliastreetcafe.com/index_performances.asp

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