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Notes from Rochester
Nov. 9th, 2006 12:22 amThe fog suits Rochester—the fog brings out the gothamness, brings out some mystery and the Possibility Of Infinite Extent.
I made three-bean chili for dinner, and I made bread-bowls in which to serve it. But the bread bowls didn't turn out bowl-like, so they were just bread, made from flour, salt, water, yeast, and olive oil.
This evening we went out to see Mike Seeger play at Kilbourn Hall, at the Eastman School of Music. He played the guitar for us, a steel-string one and a real gut-strung one too; and he played the banjo and he played a folk banjo made of a gourd, a board, and gut strings. He played the jew's harp, a curious little instrument that you press against your teeth and pluck, and he made it sound like everything from a synthesizer to a piano scale. He played the autoharp; he played the harmonica and he played the fiddle, and then he played the harmonica and the fiddle, simultaneously. He called it mountain music, and he remembered everybody's name, who had taught him the songs, and what states they were from: Tenessee, corners of Virginia, the Ozarks in Arkansas. He was really very funny, humble, and interesting.
At intermission we moved up from our $9.50 seats to the $15 seats, front and center, second row. Mike explained that yesterday he drove ten hours to get here, and tomorrow he'd drive home, but "between now and then there's some time," and he played an encore. I asked if he could recommend some places Bree and I could go, on our long drive South and then West, to hear some good music, and he recommended us the Crooked Road.
I am drinking peppermint tea.
I made three-bean chili for dinner, and I made bread-bowls in which to serve it. But the bread bowls didn't turn out bowl-like, so they were just bread, made from flour, salt, water, yeast, and olive oil.
This evening we went out to see Mike Seeger play at Kilbourn Hall, at the Eastman School of Music. He played the guitar for us, a steel-string one and a real gut-strung one too; and he played the banjo and he played a folk banjo made of a gourd, a board, and gut strings. He played the jew's harp, a curious little instrument that you press against your teeth and pluck, and he made it sound like everything from a synthesizer to a piano scale. He played the autoharp; he played the harmonica and he played the fiddle, and then he played the harmonica and the fiddle, simultaneously. He called it mountain music, and he remembered everybody's name, who had taught him the songs, and what states they were from: Tenessee, corners of Virginia, the Ozarks in Arkansas. He was really very funny, humble, and interesting.
At intermission we moved up from our $9.50 seats to the $15 seats, front and center, second row. Mike explained that yesterday he drove ten hours to get here, and tomorrow he'd drive home, but "between now and then there's some time," and he played an encore. I asked if he could recommend some places Bree and I could go, on our long drive South and then West, to hear some good music, and he recommended us the Crooked Road.
I am drinking peppermint tea.
