Tones

One night at a jam my trombone-playing pal emptied his spit valve. It let out a steady steam of moisture into the arch of my left shoe. I told him what just happened and roared. You couldn't do that if you tried! I have a fantasy of playing in an all girl brass band, inspired by The Dirty Dozen Brass Band. We'd call ourselves The Spit Valves.

I am fascinated by quiet early morning hours the way my musician friends are fascinated by late night hours, it's the same hours but we come at them from opposite sides of the day. I had a friend who was searching for months for an affordable apartment in NYC finally he was offered one if he legally promised to be out by nine AM each day and he could return no earlier than five PM. Someone else would be renting his apartment as an office by day! With my hours, perhaps I could share one of these apartments with one of my musician friends.

This morning I walked through the cemetery admiring the hydrangea as my dog ran ahead of me tracking the scent of a deer. The trees are golden and reddish and varying shades of orange. The rose-colored bouquets of hydrangea are drooping and dry and their leaves are turning from green to a limy yellow. The plant looks like old-fashioned couch upholstery. Looking around at the autumn trees I feel as if I'm walking through a sepia photograph. The clouds parted, revealing an early morning orange light, accentuating the tint.

The tone and color of a voice have a huge impact on me. The more resonant tones draw me in. I have a friend with a voice so beautiful I could ask him to read the phone book and not be bored. This is primal stuff. His voice lights up my torso like a pinball machine. What if we all just murmured and growled and barked for a day. I bet we'd understand each other perfectly from the tones and textures. My dog does.

Sometimes I think singing and dancing are primal art forms, because your body is the ultimate tool. There's no need to buy canvas, paints brushes, reeds, all that expensive stuff. It's just you and your body! If I tried to sing, and I want to, I fear bugs and furniture would suddenly fly out of my mouth. I used to sing along with Patsy Cline in my blue VW Bug. The sound would bounce back off the shallow windshield amplifying my tones. Sometimes when I was really angry I'd scream at the top of my lungs while driving. Cars are both magnificent sound studios and tanks.