The Wee Small Hours

Well, hello dear reader. It is 3:30 am and here I am again, in the wee small hours of the morning. Yesterday I went on a bike ride with my wife and friends and how lovely to cycle through my beloved green park and then to the vast open spaces of the Pacific Ocean as we wheeled down the Great Highway. After the intense urban spaces of Taipei and Macau, it was a welcome contrast. 

 

A short afternoon nap and off to Grace Cathedral, where I had a most unusual performing opportunity as the mid-concert palette cleanser in a concert of two compositions for twelve pianos. I had hoped to play solo piano, but the organizers thought the audience needing a contrasting sonic environment, so I came up with the idea of performing a tune I’ve often done with my band’s sax player, Joshi Marshall— Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child. Joshi begins this tune with a mesmerizing excursion of uninterrupted cycles of sound achieved through circular breathing and I thought this might sound extraordinary in the hallowed echoed space of the cathedral. I was right.

I also felt the human voice would be a good contrast to the piano sound and was so lucky that singer Rhonda Benin agreed to bring the song to life, as she did so soulfully in our SF Jazz Concert last October. Again, my intuition proved trustworthy. 

And I had my debut performance on acoustic guitar accompanying them both. During the sound check, the engineer said my playing sounded so beautiful and it was testimony to the power of three or four simple minor chords. (All I can take credit for is tuning the guitar well!) Again, a welcome contrast to the complex textures and structures of the 12-piano composition. 

 

I was worried that jet lag was going to kick in in the midst of our 7-minute performance, but whether it was my biorhythms, the energy of the crowd or the uplift of the music, I left the concert feeling wholly awake and wholly myself. Went to bed at 10:30pm and slept soundly until I awoke with the feeling that I was ready to get up. Usually when that happens, I walk into the kitchen to look at the clock and predict the time and often come within ten minutes of getting it right, some strange intuitive power that we all probably have. This time I predicted it was between 5 and 5:30 and I might as well start the day.

It was 2 am. Dang! Read my book for an hour by the light of my phone so as not to wake my wife, but still nothing in my body announced it was ready to return to sleep. So here I am at 3:30 am. Another affirmation that the human body was not made for long plane travel across multiple time zones. I do have a manuscript of a new book my Pentatonic Press is publishing to read through, so what better time to do it than in a quiet dark house at 3:30 am.. Just thought I’d have a few moments in your company before I start.

 

If you live in California, I hope you are sleeping soundly at the moment with sweet dreams. Perhaps when you wake to read this, I’ll be back in bed! Good morning!