on my way to Montreal...

I made a new friend. We exchanged phone numbers. She celebrates her eighty-eighth birthday today. Silver bangles cuffed her tiny wrists; her chocolate skin stretched to wrap her knuckles, swollen from arthritis. Her powdered face covered black freckles, and the red of her lips made her appear younger than her age. She showed me her family photos; I know the names of each member of her family and friends. She then proceeded to give me a detailed account of every operation she has endured. She is delicate, yet at the same time, a strong and educated woman. She praises the Lord continuously, and walks closely with Him in faith. Her blessings came from above. We chatted exuberantly, while sharing ginger-mints.

Jazz in Montreal...

My first night in town proved to be a flop; I attended three different shows -- one funk, one dub, and the other, just plain awful -- none of which could sustain my interest for more than three minutes. The situation seemed dire as I leafed through the festival program, and found that I already missed Wayne Shorter, Dave Holland, and Kenny Werner. My cousin, with whom I am staying, does not share my taste in music. He recommended a group entitled Cinematic Orchestra, some electronica music of sorts, which disappointingly, does not involve an orchestra at all.

Design in chaos -- But tonight, I heard music: Lee Konitz and his New Nonetet, including acclaimed New York guitarist, Ben Monder. I remember a time when I constantly heard about Monder. I first heard him at the Rex, a humble little jazz club in Toronto; the Rex hosting Monder resembled a poor village hosting the King. And the little club filled with intense energy and enthusiasm that evening. Tonight, this nine-piece combo received a standing ovation.

Although I have never been one for, well, more experimental-type music, I found this group to be sincere in their artistic endeavor. They are most certainly heavy players, and bold in challenging the more traditional jazz. In fact, I believe they abandon tradition altogether. They are creative, innovative, and oh-so-musically-intelligent! The drummer rendered such tasteful, almost melodious, solos; the trumpet screamed aggressively just the way I like. And no one juxtaposes chords like Ben Monder.

These musicians seem greatly interested in the effects of sound. Their arrangements sounded quite chaotic, often without any one clear soloist; but I see design in their chaos, so bravo to them.

Note: I have only seen one Chinese player this entire festival, and he played tonight with Lee Konitz. But he just had to play the bass clarinet.

Other thoughts and happenings...

The shopping here is always great. That's all I have to say about that.

Eurodeli makes fine lattes. But of course: they use Italian espresso beans.

My cousin, a typical bachelor, had me iron his shirt for him today. Actually, this came by as my own suggestion. After all, how is he going to "score chicks" (his words) with a wrinkled shirt? I say the only justification for wearing wrinkled shirts is if you are a jazz musician. Improvised music --> Improvised outfits.

Had I not forgotten my French, I would have realized that I spent half an hour leafing through the French literature and poetry of a gay bookstore.

The French are pleasure-loving people who possess a joie de vivre that Torontonians would die for. And they're all aesthetically-pleasing.