I sit in Parkette, a controversial joint in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, listening to Leny Andrade, drinking really good coffee, away from my delicious, delightful children, missing my unbelievably hard-working wife, preparing to muse about a "new bohemeanism".
Forget that. I'll write about suffering. It annoys me that, according to my wife, the Budda says that Life is all about suffering, or something like that. I think alot of artists cats throughout the ages have had some pretty well documented bouts of suffering. Werther was where it first started, I think. And there's Job, although I don't think that suffering is what that section is fucused on. The expressionists in Vienna 1875 or so made a fetish of it, and Jazz musicians Bill Evans still suffer...from excessive suffering.
A great teacher once told me that frustration is necessary for learning. I personally feel that I tend to overdo it sometimes, with most things. But it's all conditioning really. Let's take the famous chord from Mahler 10:
It might or might not sound shocking. To someone that has been conditioned to extremes of volumes and extended harmonies, this might not be terribly jarring, but to one who's idea of music consists of top 40 hits and who's conception of classical music is digestable Mozart piano sonatas, and some light orchestra pieces, this could be upsetting. But we become conditioned. Perhaps generationally, perhaps gradually, within small, measurable, observable increments, and I like to take notice of interesting thing happen when we do.
Here's an elegant, tasteful quartet that to me, thru this song, delicately comment on the articulations of life music and art.