Tonight the tempo is lashing.
Ladies and lords chase an invisible fox. Inside the music I dive through choppy
white water, cram notes onto the bow in random bunches. Lose phrasing. Lose
connection. When Eoghan straps on his accordion (his box) there’s a change. Eoghan’s foot tap is steady. Metronomic. His
fingers roam the buttons. Pleated bellows wad and stretch.
I lean my good ear
into the bank of sound, focus on Eoghan’s bandwidth. After a few measures, I’m in
the flow. A friend takes the seat beside me. He’s eager. Puts his flute
together, slaps its case shut. When he starts to play, he’s outside the beat.
Flute’s a fluttering sparrow. He raises an eyebrow my way. Help? But
I can barely hold my own. We both start going under. Eoghan’s taking a smoke
break. I shoot him a look. Help!
Catching on, he drops his
cigarette and raises the accordion to his lap. Couple of phrases, the tune’s
back on track. When I mouthe thank you
Eoghan holds my gaze and bows to me in courtly slo-mo. Never missing a note. When
his head’s bowed, I swear I see a halo around Eoghan’s skull. Then (on the wall
behind him) a golden tunnel. Ancestors stream through the ether, fine
electrodes humming.
3 comments:
always love to hear what you have to say, love, TB
Lovely, Cathy. Wish there was more such writing on the music.
That captures the essence of one of the most interesting parts of a session; namely, when the chaos resolves to order. Love it.
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