color of air
color of air
| play |
song name |
time |
chart |
|
|---|---|---|---|---|
| color of air |
3:50 |
pdf |
* |
|
| sarah on the seawall |
4:56 |
pdf |
* |
|
| vision 24774 |
4:51 |
pdf |
||
| joseph |
11:58 |
pdf |
||
| an end to warwick |
5:46 |
pdf |
* |
|
| sylvia |
8:47 |
pdf |
||
| b3 |
6:22 |
pdf |
* |
|
| the egg |
3:51 |
|||
| sunspots |
1:34 |
pdf |
||
| whitemode b |
11:28 |
credits
- Tom Zicarelli - piano
- Nat Mugavero - drums
- John Funkhouser - bass
- Phil Grenadier - trumpet*
- Peter Kontrimas - recording engineer
- Tom Zicarelli - mixing engineer, cover photography
- All songs composed by Tom Zicarelli
liner notes
Dedicated to Murray Hantman.
Renaissance fair, color of air, smoke from a billion cars, radio waves, kids in the evening, x-rays, the roar of the city, songbirds, snow, pollen, blazing sun, frozen breath, television, dogs, bombs, blood, pizza, lovers, haters, alligators. Sound slips from the trumpet and hangs in the air to dissolve. Key lime blouse, cellophane socks, clear umbrella, eye glasses. Fireflies.
1963. Spinning in circles. A koan. Sarah on the Seawall. Periodic waves with overlapping frequencies. See diagram. No diatonic intro. Hand in hand in the sand. Rolled up cotton pants, bare feet. Nat laughs when he looks at the piano and sees I’m wearing gloves. Green Ape brand cotton work gloves. Curl the fingers inward and work the arms like you’re buffing paste wax off the hood. Sweep hands horizontally, about an octave apart. Start in the middle, work your way down, dig deeper, then move to the high notes easing up pressure as you go. Keep the pedal to the metal, or jam it with a rock like James Dean.
Town Meeting a.k.a. Vision 24774
Joseph and Sylvia are children.
Ten years old. We’re somewhere in Iowa on the way to Colorado. I’m sitting on the floor in the backseat of an Oldsmobile Vista-Cruiser. As we travel, radio stations come and go, but the only song they seem to play is, “One less bell to answer. One less egg to fry…” I open the cufflink box to see if the beetles are still alive. They are. An end to Warwick. Bright yellow. Real slow. Embrace - then into a twirling weightless twist thing like Charlie Brown Christmas. BBQ ribs. Bright yellow shirts. Houndstooth pants and skirts. April.
B3's run on electricity. Flip a switch. Keys no longer sound. Music is cast adrift.
A happy home is an egg. An egg is an egg. Living in the egg is cool. Outside things look good. But you gotta smash your way through. Usually, after you get out there's someone to look after you. Unless you're a sea turtle. Then you're on your own.
Sea turtles (an aside) - The eggs are essentially abandoned in sand on the shore. Then comes the signal to 'Go': Everyone get out of your eggs! Well that's fine - you bust out on to a lovely Mexican seacoast. Predatory sea birds swoop down to eat your brothers and sisters. You're lucky. You make it to the water. Then fish try to eat you. You're oblivious. Happy. Swimming. This is it.
11 year cycle. 18 bar form. Sunspots re-gravitate the earth. Without re-gravitation the earth loses focus. Ideas are ungrounded. Wealth lies idle. Signals sparsify. Rules slackify. Undefinition reigns. A time of faith and struggle. Organisms push back temptation of overfeeding to embrace basic functions. The cycle begins again. Re-gravitation lights earth and sky. Life gets easy. Staring at the sun. The sun stares back. Beaming electricity into eyes, skin. Energy wells up inside. Temperatures rise. We are fully charged.
Whitemode B - White notes. Starting on B. Try it.
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