I received numerous telegraphs yesterday inquiring as to the success of our performance at the 5 Spot Thursday evening; too many, in fact, to respond singly. Therefore, I will tell the tale now since we are all gathered here in one place. Allow me to dim the lamp-light.
It was a chilly Thursday evening just like any other, yet it held the quintessence of spring – that unspoken enthusiasm which accompanies new life. The New Transcendentalists and I had congregated in my chamber to rehearse for the evening’s event. As we are engaged in a ceaseless course of experimentation, it was apparent that this night’s performance would have its own individual stamp. Most notably, it would be the first live performance for us with the pump organ. Mr. Wallace was playing this beast of an instrument, and conveniently it fit perfectly into his Volkswagen van. I must admit that it did seem a bit mad to haul this 120 year old piece of beautiful antique furniture to such a dank establishment as the 5 Spot, but my curiosity to see and hear it in a public context overpowered my trepidations. Just the visual of it sitting in Mr. W’s ‘vintage’ van provided a hilarious contrast! We wrestled this imposing instrument through the rock-club’s façade and up to its temporary resting place on the stage where it caused everything in its modern surroundings to look like science-fiction. Eventually, The New Transcendentalists joined it on-stage and balanced things out nicely.
We started the set with ambience, fading into As the Storm Rolls In. It was a perfect example of how an image is characterized by its background. My immediate impression was that our set was going to come off as strikingly down-tempo and moody in this setting. In such a moment, there is a detrimental instinct to compensate for this contrast, but in awareness we stayed the course. I have long been of the mind that the things which strike us as odd about a performance are the very things that are impressed into our minds. We may perhaps be uncomfortable with these feelings at first but they will eventually draw us further in. Those performances which are immediately recognizable will just as instantly be forgotten. Therefore, I carry this logic into my own performances, surrendering any need for congruency. When I have amused myself, I can honestly say that the performance was a success – and it was! The New Transcendentalists performed …well, transcendently! A talented fellow named Mr. Jamie Dick was sitting-in for Mr. P. on percussion. His playing was wonderful as was that of the lovely Ms. D. Add the swirling ambience of Mr. G. on lap steel combined with that of Mr. W. on pump organ and a dream like atmosphere was created. Our set lasted the better part of an hour, easing along like the melding scenes of a reverie. I was wholly satisfied.
For making this memorable evening possible, I extend my warmest appreciations to the staff of the 5 Spot, as well as Mr. Wallace who booked our appearance. I am also grateful to each of The New Transcendentalists for the contribution of His/Her unique talents. Moreover, I whole-heartedly thank those attentive handfuls of music-lovers who participated in the magic of the evening. It was a truly pleasurable experience for me and I do hope it was for you!
Tonight’s concert is sure to be a grand event! Invitations have been extended to a long list of distinguished personages, among them patrons and sages of the Old World. First to heed our Répondez s’il vous plaît was the celestial Mother Earth. Although she is very European in her grooming habits, she will be an honored and welcomed guest. Next on the list was the venerable Old Man Winter, but he declined our invitation citing ‘Thermophobia’. We did receive a response from Mister Sandman, but were unable to discern if it were a mere reverie. Nonetheless, his surreal message stated that he will attend, but that he works nights and may have to retire early. Father time is set to arrive at precisely 8:59 post-meridiem. We are somewhat concerned that his compulsion disorder will be upset if we are to start a few minutes late in adherence to tradition. Mistakenly, someone sent an invitation to Baby New Year who clearly cannot attend due to the ‘Over 21’ rule. His father, The Great Creator can none but be present, for He is omnipresent. There is a slight concern for overcrowding, but we have made every possible preparation.
If you yourself did not receive an invitation, then we beg your pardon! It would be a pleasure if you would honor us with your presence. As I have precluded, you will be in the finest company! Please accept this transmittance as your invitation. If you require further information or directions, we have provided a compendium and a map under World Travels.
In light of the prior week-end’s musical discoveries and with a giant leap of pecuniary faith, I have decided to abruptly alter the course of our recording project. The New Transcendentalists have elicited the assistance of an alchemist named Mr. Joe McMahan. It is he who produced my previous release Radio Noise, as well as recordings by Kevin Gordon, Jennifer Niceley, Mike Farris, The Altered Statesmen, Peter Bradley Adams, Claire Small, Joe and Vicki Price, and countless others. He has also contributed to up-coming releases by Kurt Wagner of Lambchop and a highly-anticipated new Kevin Gordon record. We have set a tentative date in March to record at a world-class facility in Nashville named The House of David.
The rendition of As the Storm Rolls In that you’re hearing is a selection from our recent pre-production session. As is the nature of experimentation, it is not without flaws, but I believe it to also contain moments of magic which can only occur from the synergy created by the interplay of inspired individuals. In comparison, the sound of compounding individual performances has produced lack-luster results. We must set-out to catch lightning in a bottle – capture the magic of the eternal moment! I hope you enjoy this fleeting moment of creative process. It is sure to become even more saturated with the spirit of Unity.
I must make a confession. In my recent testimony of solitude, I did make some slight factual omissions for the purpose of literary aesthetic. In truth, there was a hootenanny of sorts that took place within these walls only two nights ago. Its participants were the members of the ensemble James Wallace and the Naked Light – a fine band of fellows with whom I have been contributing my skills as percussionist. Mr. Wallace himself is someone I consider a kindred soul, possessing an uncommonly inventive mind and a singular capacity for weaving abstract concepts together with his quirky sense of humor. I highly recommend splurging to acquire his debut album entitled I Smile All Day I Smile All Night. Upon hearing it the first time, I could not help but remark that this is a delightfully odd fellow, with an unusually busy mind – not unlike myself. One can almost hear the squeaking of a hamster-wheel in the quiet moments of his music – the sound of cerebral unrest, accompanied by heightened pulmonary rhythm. Ergo, when Mr. W. invited me to lend my services as antiquarian percussionist, I was naturally as excited as a rabid fan being selected from the front row.
For a number of years I have passively sought-out an appropriate situation for my percussive aesthetic. To generalize my concept, it is to use various antique instruments in my collection as well as other time-worn objects not-intended for musical facility, to stir-up emotions which have lay dormant in the human heart for nigh a century. I have long-hypothesized there are no ‘good’ sounds or ‘bad’ sounds, but only those which serve to conjure one’s intended emotion. In Hamlet, Shakespeare wrote “There is nothing either good or bad – but thinking makes it so”. Mainstream modern music seems to have agreed-upon a grossly-limited palate of generally accepted ‘good’ sounds. i.e. Red, Blue, Yellow, and Green – as in the most basic box of crayons. But when some ‘visionary’ introduces an orange or a purple, it is avant-garde in comparison. Hark! What about the infinite shades of blue in the sky? Yea, every blade of grass is in proud-display of its own unique hue of green! I believe that the American Idolists would reduce us to a nation of apathetes, streamlining our emotions to be counted on the fingers of the bank-teller! But alas, we are sentient beings, with emotional complexities far beyond the comprehension of the analyst.
In awareness that the continuance of this rant could serve no Good, I return to my originally-intended purpose of gratitude and respect-for the creative works of Mister James Wallace – who in following his vision (not necessarily in the spirit of contempt) is helping to stretch the limits of the status-quo. There are plans currently underway for a split-bill to include J.W. and band (myself on percussion), Mr. H. (Mr.W on pump organ), and perhaps a mystery guest performer. I will alert you of the details of this event as-soon-as they are known to me.
Between The Blue
and The Green,
There Lies the Good-
Mr. Hazelwood
LAST NIGHT I ventured out from the Estate to attend a private gathering to which I had received an invitation. Although I do enjoy my solitude, I can not deny that I am a social creature. The encroaching elements of these long winter months have forced me in-of-doors, stifling my senses as I can only gaze upon nature through a pane. My garden seems a lifetime away from this position in my study. The rain and sleet has beaten it down into the soil where although I know the spirit of corn, tomatoes, and beans are still lurking; they are taking refuge like my-self. It is this very self which I have found increasingly in want of human contact so I accepted the gracious invitation and made the short trip to a nearby estate to see a performance by Mrs. Abigail Washburn.
It turned out to be the very night of relating for which I was in need. There were many pleasantly familiar faces, some of which I had not gazed upon since before the solstice. I also made the introduction of many new personages including a few enchanting young ladies, which was especially delightful! Among these introductions was the lovely Mrs. Washburn herself. If you are not familiar, Abigail is an astute songwriter and banjo player of the old-time tradition, known for her musical pilgrimages to China and her collaborations with (and marriage to) famed banjo virtuoso Bela’ Fleck. She was a most pleasant and engaging creature, with what seemed like an inexhaustible abundance of life-energy! She possessed a singular charisma, which when she began to perform, equated to a complete command of the audience’s attention. She shared the stage with an acquaintance of mine named Mr. Kai Welch as they have recently been collaborating. The show was engaging – playful and energetic but with a mischievous undertone. I am no music critic so I will not attempt to elaborate, but will only say that I was thoroughly entertained and impressed.
Following another round of socializing, I said my good-bye’s, bundled up and stepped out into a drizzly night where my valet Ulysses had the car in wait. I was filled with a new warmth which I carried with me through the gates to the Old Manse. I slept soundly with the celestial sound of a banjo plucking a Washington Phillips song in repetition…
Your presence at Tuesday night’s event was a pure act of generosity. To veer out from the Family Wash stage at countless friends and fans who braving the elements, came in selfless support of my work, was a true delight. As I am completely guided from within, I can never know tangibly if a single personage will find even a kernel of recognition in anything that I have to express. It is only at times like this that I am sure that I have not labored in vain. Although I do strive to be self-reliant, I do not make music for my-self. It is for the collective self – my soul’s counterpoint in another. Your attendance and receptivity to my art is an acknowledgement that I have, metaphorically speaking, struck a chord. By this phenomenon I am most humbled and grateful.
There was an enchanted quintessence about the room that night, exuding no-doubt from the positive and enthusiastic multitude. I took the stage with an orchestra of uniquely-talented instrumentalists who had never once shared the stage before. Yet, we had not gotten far into the first selection before I realized that there was something very special about this assemblage of creative minds. The juxtaposition of the solid basis of drums and upright bass with the free-flowing ambience of lap-steel, harmonica, and organ made for a music that was simultaneously organic and surreal. It was as the songs had an earthly body and an astral body. Ergo, I found myself perfectly suspended between these two realms and was able to deliver my own performance in a manner transcending all others. Just upon our quitting, Cole Slivka, the host of the night remarked “I felt like I was transported to another world for thirty minutes”. Producer extraordinaire Joe McMahan articulated the sound as “John Fahey meets Time Out of Mind”. I myself could not have been happier with the renderings. I am inexpressibly appreciative to my band-mates and the entire Family Wash family. It was an epic event.
This morning I faintly heard a rapping at my chamber door. “That is very queer”, I mumbled under my breath, for I did not expect any visitor. Candle in hand, I scurried down the great oaken staircase to investigate. I hesitated to open the door, for if it were the paparazzi I would surely have to contend with a viral daguerreotype of me in my night-cap. But another knock came – more urgent than the first – so I disengaged the lock and helped the great door open, as it creaked and moaned from this first bit of activity in ages. Alas! There stood my band. In my musings I must have lost count of the days. We were to rehearse this morning! I showed them to the parlor and dashed off to compose myself.
This rehearsal that I speak of is to prepare for to-night’s concert at The Family Wash. We are scheduled to go on-stage at the strike of Eight-Thirty. A rehearsal was imperative because The New Transcendentalists have never appeared on-stage before in this manifestation. To-night, they will be comprised of Mr. Goforth, Mr. Norris, Mr. Perkinson, and Ms. Dickinson, two of which (N & P) I have never consorted with musically. It has been the case, prior, that each of my concerts is marked by a unique supportive cast. Methinks it keeps the music creative and in-the-moment. There is no sleeping at the reins. There are those who would seek to control every aspect of a performance, but I am no musical autocrat. I have found it most likely that a mature cast of players will create magic beyond my comprehension when left to their own devices. We have convened this morning to establish a basic structure for the performance, but things could happen on-stage to-night which are beyond my wildest imagining. It is my sincerest hope that you will choose to join us this special evening as we conjure rhythm and melodie.
Since our last intercourse, more than three solid months have come between us. To one who strives to be present and not in resistance to the natural laws of change, the life experience therein might be the equivalent to the average lifetime. There is something to be said now in support of subtlety, with regard to one’s perception of time. May I offer an analogy? Basic physics tells us that decreasing the speed of a motorcar by exactly half will significantly reduce the amount of fuel consumed within a set distance. I myself have found little value in gross living, although I admit to my own prior assertions that the Universe is infinitely big and small. Yet, as I have gazed upon the world with a fine-eye, it has been my experience that dormant forces have want to come alive. There are no mundane moments, and there is nothing dull under the sun. There is a quiet redundancy to the Truth, and it will continue to file appeals until it has stood a just trial. Once it has been vindicated, it will graciously yield to some deeper understanding to patiently assert itself through repeated bursts of even milder sensation and subtler displays of beauty. Meanwhile, the frantic entity of Time has taken its rest. These microscopic experiences of joy have all but stopped the clock! I am alive as nature would have it and not subject to any plight which might be imposed upon me by the delusions of my erroneous, yet well-meaning contemporaries. And so I emerge from my short hiatus more fulfilled, hopeful, and inspired than ever before. It is my renewed intention to serve as a sort of ‘cosmic translator’, by transmuting my delicate findings into something a bit courser (i.e. intuitions into ideas, and ideas into words).
This short reprieve has also lent itself to a profound new understanding of my performance art. Having developed a whole new repertoire of music within that time, I took the stage of The Family Wash on Friday evening and delivered a performance that feels like the first in a career. Some facet, which is choosing to remain unarticulated for now, sprang into being for the first time and rendered my creative ideas palatable to the present audience. Having said that, I have no doubt that this same potentiality is responsible for compelling those receptive souls to convene there. Although I felt it was by no means masterful performance on my part and was informed that the lyrics were audibly unintelligible, it was enough to covey the essence of my aesthetic. This experience has prompted a new motivation to sharpen my skills through repeated performance, and so I am in the process of booking future appearances. I shall inform you of these dates as they are confirmed!
If it appears to you that this web-site has regressed in its aesthetics and content, then you are no doubt a remarkably astute observer. Over these past few months, misterhazelwood.com has been a home without a foundation – a virtual mobile mansion, if you will, which has made its trek around the globe only to land back in that same low-cost subdivision in which it was erected. I had imagined a serene grassy knoll for its final situation (i.e. a more intuitive content management system) but never found such a place in all my travels. It seems that Wordpress is to be the permanent home of my home after all. In the moving process, regrettably, I did lose a few belongings (previous entries) but I am ready to begin anew – filling this virtual domicile with only the finest artifacts from far-away, enchanting places within the universe of my atypical grey-matter. Let’s go shopping!
Speaking of world travel, I recently embarked on a jaunt throughout some of the southern United States to (as the poet might say) “test the waters” in reference to my musical presentation. I was accompanied in my travels and on-stage by a gentleman named Jason Goforth, an organic-electronic lap steel / harmonica player whose musical and social contribution to the tour was invaluable. Also in the caravan was the dark-story-telling Folk artist Row Craven. It was his booking efforts which had prompted the trip, and he was gracious enough to invite my participation. As intention would have it, Row and I would split the lime-light at three music venues to include Proud Larry’s in Oxford, Mississippi; the Circle Bar in New Orleans, Louisiana; and the Continental Club in Austin, Texas.
As I have insinuated, this trip was for me (although I can’t imagine what course of effort is not) an experiment. Though I do enjoy the time spent in the shadowy recesses of my home and my imagination, I often feel at loss for objectivity – some reference point by which to know that I have not labored in vain. This is how I am able to justify such a trip wherein there is significant pecuniary loss, given the current paradigm of the touring independent music-artist. I travel to gain a clearer understanding of how my art can be defined when framed by various cultures and vicissitudes on my part and on the part of the audience. A thing is only what it is in-relation-to another thing. And so I went – and performed – and took my return – concluding this: I need to be more selective about my choice of performance venue. Before I continue with my findings I must stress that I did enjoy my time spent in each city and that there were some very gracious and attentive patrons. However, this was the final trip that I needed in order to confirm that my music does not deliver well in an establishment which is in first priority a bar. In such a place, I almost always feel as though I’m broadcasting but no-one is tuned in. They often listen, indeed, but they seem to be on the wrong channel. If you will allow me to offer an analogy: I am broadcasting on SM (Soul Modulation) while the patrons in a bar are tuned in to AM (Alcohol Modulation) or FM (Fornication Modulation). It stands to reason why they might not hear any more than static. I create music on a basis of sensitivity and subtlety, qualities which go seem to go un-noticed by the muted senses of the (albeit intelligent and attentive) bar-goer. Perhaps that is why many Folk artists have done well in coffeehouses. Their audience is on stimulants instead of depressants. Hmm….? Did I mention that I’m performing at a Yoga studio in October?
