11 October 2006

A nexus of private languages come together in an improvised performance.

I was the master of my practice room as a child. I remember staring at myself in front of that elongated IKEA mirror, seeking imperfections in my embouchure. I rarely found any, but I continued to stare. It was the only way I could focus on tasks so meaningless in isolation that they drove my family to run unnecessary errands. Despite the mindnumbing difficulty of it all, I always felt that at the end of a practice session, I had expanded my musical lexicon. More tools in my kit to better prepare for that moment when I encountered a host of other wanderers, knowing their musical faults better than I could ever possibly detect.