Two duos playing the full range of jazz at the Bird’s Eye in Basel, 27 February 2025

Last night, the Bird’s Eye in Basel featured two quite distinct duos: Tim Garland (saxophone) and Jason Robello (piano), and then Izumi Kimura (piano) and Gerry Hemingway (drums, vibes, bowed cymbal, harmonica, vocals). Garland and Robello’s songs were all in standard jazz format with head, solos, and head, all originals except one standard, Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer’s “Moon River” (1961). Kimura and Hemingway’s compositions were much less conventional, sometimes with rubato fragments of sound, sometimes with aggressive thunder, and with much in between. And when they turned to free improvisation, Hemingway introduced a superb piece of spontaneous composition on vibes and piano with the memorable phrase “something for right now.” (Andrew Shields, #111Words, 28 February 2025) 

Forty years of playing Lou Reed’s “I’m Waiting for the Man"

Back in 1985, my frenemy Kurt Johnson taught me Lou Reed's song "I'm Waiting for the Man", from The Velvet Underground's 1967 debut album "The Velvet Underground & Nico". Kurt played it in D major with his band The Vegetables, so I played it that way, too. He got mad at me when my band Petting Zoo also started performing the song. Sometime later, I moved it up to E major instead and started playing it with a shuffle rhythm. Now I've been playing it the song for around forty years; I've always loved singing its vivid evocation of two things I've never done: buying heroin in Harlem, then shooting up. (Andrew Shields, #111Words, 27 February 2025) 

A note to my students about writing their daily 111-word texts

Some evening this term, you might notice that you haven't written your text for today (as I haven't written mine for today as I type this up). It might cross your mind that you could quickly generate a 111-word text using a text-generation program. But if you're really out of ideas, or if you're really too tired, just skip a day instead. After all, this course is not about effective uses of so-called AI; it's about developing your own writing skills. And such programs are also notoriously bad at counting (as in the question of how many Rs are in "strawberry"), so they might not get the word count right anyway. (Andrew Shields, #111Words, 26 February 2025, a text addressed to the students in my class "111 Words a Day: A Writing Project") 

Proofreading a book with Professor Albert Gelpi in Summer 1986

In summer 1986, I spent many warm afternoons on the deck of the house of Stanford English Professor Albert Gelpi, where we were proofreading the galleys of his book "A Coherent Splendor: The American Poetic Renaissance 1910-1950". That spring, I had met him in his course on Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman, and Emily Dickinson. We would take turns reading the manuscript out loud and reading along in the galleys, and we even mentioned every punctuation mark. I had not thought of that project in a long time, until yesterday, when I read the chapter on Adrienne Rich in Al's 2015 book "American Poetry after Modernism: The Power of the Word". (Andrew Shields, #111Words, 25 February 2025)

The Salamander daydreams about Don Q, Lone Odor, and the Turtle

While the Salamander sat in his fiery nest, waiting for calls from the Six Flacks to rant and ramble on their television shows, he smiled at the thought of Don Q's head iconoclast Lone Odor. That nasty fulfillment of the Salamander's loveliest nightmares had gone beyond planning a pirate base on the moon and was imagining settling Mars even as he flew the skull-and-crossbones to root out vermin in Plunderland. For so long, the Salamander had admired the Turtle's slow hokum, which made him such a fine and nasty pirate, but now he could only laugh at the Turtle's meek gestures towards taking down that flag he lad always sailed under. Andrew Shields, #111Words, 24 February 2025) 

Don Q, Vanza, and their five achievements for the week

Lone Odor asked Don Q what five achievements he unlocked this week. "I drove my perfect golf cart, I signed the best executive orders, I gave the best speech about the best tariffs, that speech made the world's toughest men cry, and I yelled at the worst clouds anyone has ever seen." "Fine, Don Q," said Lone Odor, looking past Don Q at the window painted on the wall. "And you, Vanza?" "I also gave a speech, mine made all the Europeans cry, Don Q's sons and I went hyena hunting, I had Don Q's walls repainted, and I threw my children under the swasticar again." "Fine, Vanza," said Lone Odor. (Andrew Shields, #111Words, 23 February 2025)

Don Q wonders about a hurricane, an electric boat, and a shark

The ocean on the southeast shore of Plunderland is flat and empty on this cloudless Saturday morning. With Vanza by his side, Don Q looks at the window of the Southern Hush Money House in White Sea Lake and sees a hurricane on the horizon and one electric boat speeding past near the shore, with Lone Odor steering and Malice's hair blowing behind her. There's a shark fin nearby. Don Q asks, "When the hurricane comes, will they jump over by the shark to not get electrocuted?" "That's a good question, sir," says Vanza as he reaches out to touch the window and notices that it is actually a painted wall. (Andrew Shields, #111Words, 22 February 2025)

Don Q and the hyenas of Plunderland

After the hyenas escaped from Plunderland Zoo, they laughed and copied themselves by running through the mirrors Don Q looked at himself in. The doubled hyenas laughed and then recopied themselves by running down the rabbit holes where Don Q's followers looked at the shadows on the walls. When the quadrupled hyenas and their quadrupled shadows came out of the rabbit holes again, they saw Don Q driving his golf cart across a ruined beachfront cityscape full of corpses, and they laughed and ate their fill. When they were done, they saw Don Q driving his golf cart across burned prairies full of corpses, and they laughed and ate their fill. (Andrew Shields, #111Words, 21 February 2025)

Angela Davis and Toni Morrison, 28 March 2974, New York City, a photograph by Jill Krementz

On 28 March 1974, Angela Davis and Toni Morrison walked down a street in New York City, and photographer Jill Krementz took a picture of them. One student in my Morrison seminar said Davis looks more "closed", with her hands clasped across her stomach and her jacket buttoned up, while Morrison looks more "open", with her jacket open, her throat uncovered, and her right arm swinging by her side. Another student pointed out that their Afro makes them look like it was the 1970s (as it was). I added that Morrison had published two novels already, but she was still a Random House editor, and Davis was one of her authors. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 20 February 2025)

Don Q and the “big beautiful ocean"

Don Q looked at the window of the Southern Hush Money House in White Sea Lake, where he had just eaten breakfast with Malice and talked on the phone with Vanza and then with Lone Odor about their latest plans for Plunderland. "We have a big beautiful ocean," he said, although nobody was in the room with him. "Out there, there are islands surrounded by water, big water, ocean water. You look at Plunderland's air and water, and it's now at a record clean. But you take a shower, the water doesn’t come out. We have so much water that it comes down. It's called rain, this tremendous sea of love." (Andrew Shields, #111words, 19 February 2025) 

Neal Boenzi’s 1987 photograph of Adrienne Rich for the New York Times

To begin the first session of my seminar this semester on Adrienne Rich's poetry, I asked what the students what they saw in Neal Boenzi's 1987 photograph of Rich for the New York Times. One student commented on the poet being surrounded by her books in her office, which another described as an apparently "comfortable place". Then we discussed how she looks like she is in a conversation where she is explaining or agreeing with something, with her body language doubly thoughtful – reflective and considerate. I also identified two books with blurry titles, which position Rich after the heyday of American Modernist poetry: H.D.'s "Collected Poems" and Ezra Pound's "The Cantos". (Andrew Shields, #111words, 18 February 2025)

 

Guests of Honor at the Basel Art Museum, April 1999: Manet Zola Cézanne Mehldau

I wrote this essay back in 1999 in response to an exhibition and a concert at the Basel Art Museum. I thought of it again this weekend while I was at the Brad Mehldau concerts at the Martinskirche in Basel, and I discovered now that I have never posted it to my blog. So here it is, 25+ years later. And by now I have seen Mehldau at least 11 times – at least that’s how many I have specific dates for.

Guests Of Honor At The Kunstmuseum

 

            The Kunstmuseum's stone courtyard features Rodin's bronze Burgers of Calais, their hands pleading or raised as if in self-defense, their shoulders and heads turned or bowed, their steps heavy. The wide stairway in the museum itself ascends to another Rodin, and the first floor's spacious entry hall has two more, along with a bronze by Aristide Maillol. From there, you can head to the right towards one of the museum's current exhibitions, "A Guest of Honor II: Manet Zola Cézanne. Portrait of the Modern Writer."

            Its centerpiece is a painting from the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, the second in the Kunstmuseum's series of "guests of honor": Manet's "Portrait of Émile Zola." A second painting, Cézanne's "Paul Alexis reads to Zola," complements the first. The exhibition also features photographs of a number of nineteenth-century French painters and writers, including Zola, Cézanne, Manet, and the poet Stéphane Mallarmé. These photographs are mostly portraits which do not reveal the trades of their subjects. None of the painters is shown in a studio or with any of the trappings of his trade. Nadar's photograph of Baudelaire makes him look less like a poet than like a very stern professional—a preacher, even, or a lawyer. In contrast, several large photographs of Zola in his apartment, with him sitting at or standing next to a desk covered with paper and books, make it clearer that he is a writer. Only the photograph of Mallarmé also suggests its subject's occupation—he is seated at a small table, with pen and paper. Perhaps appropriately, given the long periods of creative silence Mallarmé experienced throughout his life, the sheet of paper is blank.

            Like the photographs's of the author, Manet's painting of Zola clearly marks its subject's occupation, not just with pens and books but also with a copy of Zola's monograph defending Manet's work against its attackers. The writer's defense of the artist is further emphasized by a print of Manet's controversial "Olympia" above the writer's desk, which is partially covering another print, a copy of Velázquez's "Triumph of Bacchus". The copy from which that print was made may have been by Goya, or by Célestin Nanteuil; the exhibition offers us both for our examination, along with the two Japanese paintings which complete the halo of art surrounding Zola in Manet's painting. Only "Olympia" is missing, but then Manet's portrait of Zola only includes a print of that work—several of which are currently in Basel.

            In a sense, the exhibition's emphasis is on the portrait of the modern writer, and not on the portrait of the modern writer—but it would be very difficult to do the latter in a museum. After all, the strengths of museums lie in presenting images and not in presenting words. These photographs and paintings of writers depict either someone who could well have had just about any occupation or a writer marked as such by images of the tools of the trade. Only Cézanne's "Paul Alexis reads to Zola" manages to do more than that. The poet Paul Alexis, a friend of Zola's and Cézanne's, worked for a while as Zola's secretary. Part of Alexis's job was to read Zola's texts out loud to Zola, so that the author could get a sense of the effect of his own work on a reader. The painting depicts this extraordinary scene. Zola is marked as the author by the pen he holds in his hand, but it is Alexis who is holding the manuscript and reading; the literary work itself seems to become visible, its transmission a possible object of representation. In the rippling folds of Zola's red cloak, the painting shimmers with sound. 

            The Cézanne makes this exhibition a must—not because it is a better painting than the Manet, but because it is part of a private collection. If you miss the Manet,  you can always at least fantasize about going to the Musée d'Orsay to see it later. But if you miss the Cézanne, you might have lost your only chance to see it. The exhibition really contains two "guests of honor."

            The Kunstmuseum has recently begun to feature a different kind of guest of honor as well, in a series called "Jazz at the Kunstmuseum." On a recent Saturday evening in April, a black Jazz by Off Beat banner hung in front of the first-floor entrance hall's central sculpture, Rodin's marble "Striding Man," and in front of the banner stood a piano and half-circles of chairs for the audience.

            This sculpture was a particularly appropriate backdrop for Brad Mehldau's solo concert. His performance was filled with the drive of the "striding man" as well as the dignity of a Burger of Calais. He spoke very little, only making a few short announcements in the course of two long sets; in the first of these, he surprised his audience by revealing that the opening pieces were compositions by Brian Wilson (of the Beach Boys), Radiohead, and the seventies songwriter Nick Drake—not standard sources for jazz.

            The Radiohead piece, "Paranoid Android," was especially compelling, with its powerful rhythm and an arrangement full of surprising twists and sudden shifts in volume and register. Only the fourth piece, Jerome Kern's "Long Ago and Far Away," was a conventional jazz "standard"—but one dissected as thoroughly as the three previous pieces had been. Full of edgy, staccato effects, it swung into and out of nervousness. With it, Mehldau showed off the extreme independence not just of his hands but of his fingers: he often had two melody lines running in counterpoint, and when he really began to let the arpeggios boil, even more lines seemed to be weaving around each other. The set closer then showed that he could be emotionally overpowering without showing off his technique; with the Beatles' "Mother Nature's Son," he stayed quite close to the original melody, quietly adding simple variations to great effect.

            That piece was perhaps less like the "Striding Man" than like the other Rodin to the right of the piano as you came up the stairs. The weathered bronze head, "Pierre de Wissant," gives the impression of tears, flowing not just down the face but over the entire head. It is leaned slightly to the side, as if it were trying to hear something, the way that Mehldau's "Mother Nature's Son" seemed to be trying to hear "subtle little wets" floating around and through the melody.

            The second set showcased a suite of "Elegies" which will appear on Mehldau's forthcoming solo album. They brought the house down with their emotional intensity, overpowering technique, and dramatic development. Cézanne's painting of Alexis reading to Zola communicates the energy of fiction through the depiction of its reading; Mehldau's "Elegies" were wordless poems and stories carried along by the lyricism and drama of his melodies. The most overpowering moment came not in one of the forte passages running improvised melodies through floods of arpeggios—though such peaks were impressive—but in an extremely slow passage in the third piece of the five. In it, Mehldau played hardly any notes, seeming again and again to be one chord from resolution, one single chord to end the piece. Every time, though, he would play an unexpected chord, or even just one note, deferring resolution while still promising that it was just around the corner. Instead, he slowly began to build the piece up again, and what had sounded like a conclusion turned out to be the middle of the piece.

            In July of 1891, Mallarmé and Berthe Morisot paid a visit to Claude Monet's studio, during which Monet offered the poet a canvas of his choice as a present. On his way home with the wrapped painting on his knees, Mallarmé remarked to Morisot: "One thing I am happy about is living in the same age as Monet." Mallarmé had the pleasure of following the development of Manet, Zola, Cézanne, and Morisot herself, as well as Monet; we only have the pleasure of living after them. We see their careers (and that of Mallarmé as well) not as processes but as wholes. But we have our own pleasures to replace those Mallarmé experienced: I for one am happy to be living in the same age as Brad Mehldau, and as he is still young, I—and you, too—can look forward to hearing him play for decades to come.

Don Q thought he was the King of Plunderland

Don Q thought he was the King of Plunderland, where he rides his golf cart down the boulevard, drinking Diet Coke like craft beer and ignoring all the broken dreams. He asked Vanza who the King of Plunderland was, and with tears rolling down his face, Vanza said, "You are, sir." He asked Malice who the King of Plunderland was, and with her botox smile, Malice said, "You are, Don Q." He asked Lone Odor who the King of Plunderland was, and with the smirk of a trickster who thinks he's always one step ahead of everyone, Lone Odor said, "My son is the one who knows who the King is." (Andrew Shields, #111words, 17 February 2025) 

Brad Mehldau’s beautiful instrumental version of “Hey Joe” – a song about a man murdering a woman after she slept with someone else

In June 2019, I wrote a post on Facebook about how I didn't want to listen to Jimi Hendrix's "Hey Joe" anymore because it is about a man murdering a woman after she slept with someone else. The post generated a heated discussion, with 137 comments. I remembed that last night when Brad Mehldau included an instrumental version of the song on solo piano in his concert at Basel's Martinskirche. Stripped of its lyrics and adorned with Mehldau's style, it was beautiful. But I also thought of how, in a Basel suburb this month, a man shot a woman and then himself – as often happens, every day, all over the world. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 16 February 2025)

Brad Mehldau, solo piano, Martinskirche, Basel, 15 February 2025

This evening, at the second of his two solo shows at the Martinskirche in Basel, pianist Brad Mehldau played many of his own compositions alongside a wide range of pop covers, from Elliot Smith ("Satellite") and Kurt Cobain ("Lithium") to Neil Young ("Old Man") and The Beatles (Lennon's "She Said, She Said" and Harrison's "If I Needed Someone"), along with Billy Roberts's "Hey Joe" (based, naturally, on Jimi Hendrix's arrangement). On the covers, Mehldau mostly stuck closely to the original melodies, making the tunes his own with his elaborations of the harmonies. On his originals – and "Hey Joe" – he left the melodies behind in long improvised lines and torrents of arpeggios. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 15 February 2025)

Brad Mehldau, solo piano, Martinskirche Basel, 14 February 2025

This evening's concert by Brad Mehldau at the Martinskirche in Basel was unamplified solo piano. The highlight of the first set, which featured material from his 2023 album "After Fauré", based on compositions by Gabriel Fauré, was a passage in which the overtones of the piano began to ring through the church. In the second set, the opener was a gorgeous rendition of the Steve Winwood song "Can't Find My Way Home" from the 1969 album by Blind Faith. Later, in what Mehldau announced as "variations on the Golberg Variations", he took Johann Sebastian Bach into stride piano and blues riffing. Mehldau returns to the Martinskirche with a different program tomorrow. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 14 February 2025) 

"Some of the things that I say will be incorrect”: Don Q, Lone Odor, and the Six Flacks

Don Q listened to the Six Flacks of Plunderland asking questions. His responses were all the same: "That is the worst question anyone has ever asked me. You don't have the least idea what you're talking about. You have to accept what I tell you, or I'm going to ban you from asking me questions." The Flacks trembled in their stockings. Meanwhile, with his son on his shoulders, Lone Odor wandered up, so the Flacks had questions for him. Asked about what they called his "misstatements", Odor kept shrugging his shoulders. "Some of the things that I say will be incorrect and should be corrected." His son laughed at the ride. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 13 February 2025)

"Every Breath You Take", by The Police (1983), and "You Belong With Me”, by Taylor Swift (2008)

Today, on Wednesday, in a café, I heard "Every Breath You Take", by The Police, from their 1983 album "Synchronicity", and a phrase in the chorus struck me: "Oh can't you see / you belong to me." Here, "you belong to me" is the phrase of a possessive lover, or even a stalker, while in Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me" (from the album "Fearless", 2008), the similar phrase is an appeal by a girl to a boy who is dating someone else to realize that she would be a better girlfriend. The echo of Sting's lyric gives a twist to Swift's: "Why can't you see / You bеlong with me." (Andrew Shields, #111words, 12 February 2025) 

Google Maps bows down and misnames a major body of water

I opened Google Maps, found New Orleans, and zoomed out – and the body of water south of Louisiana is called "Gulf of Mexico (Gulf of America)". At least that's what I see from Switzerland. According to several posts I have seen, if you access Google Maps in the United States, that body of water is just identified as "Gulf of America." Presumably, from now on, we can easily identify supporters of United States President Donald Trump, as well as people or organizations that want things from him, when they use that name. Trump supporters who like Steve Earle will have to write new rhymes for his song "The Gulf of Mexico". (Andrew Shields, #111words, 11 February 2025)

Starting singing lessons and also working on writing down the melodies of my songs

I started singing lessons last month, and my teacher has asked me to write down the melodies of the songs I have written since I wrote my first song in April 1986 (after the Chernobyl nuclear accident late that month, I wrote a punk song about it while running in the rain). The process has made me realize that I have actually not always been sure exactly what the melody is all the way through many of the songs, which hasn't made them any easier to sing well. Now that I'm pinning down my intentions, I can be more precise in singing my melodies, and varying them if I want to. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 10 February 2025)

Don Q and Vanza at Foney Island

Last October at Foney Island, while Vanza admired the rollercoasters, the huge crowd, and the cotton candy, Don Q turned his back on it all and spoke to the Six Flacks who follow him everywhere: “Like all of Plunderland without me, Foney Island is the worst, its rollercoasters rusting, its attendance numbers collapsing, and its cotton candy disgusting.” Yesterday, with Vanza, Don Q returned to Foney Island, waved his arms at the rollercoasters, the crowds, and the cotton candy, and spoke to the Six Flacks: “Thanks to my return, Foney Island once again has the best rollercoaster, crowds, and cotton candy in all of Plunderland, the greatest country in the world.” (Andrew Shields, #111words, 9 February 2025) 

How Malice and Lone Odor arrived in Plunderland

Malice walked down a ramp to sit with other people in rows of chairs. After they dreamed for several hours, the people all got up and walked up a ramp, where people in uniform asked them for identification. A man smiled at Malice and wished her a pleasant visit in beautiful Plunderland. Around the same time, Lone Odor walked down a ramp to sit with other people in rows of chairs. After they dreamed for several hours, the people all got up and walked up a ramp, where people in uniform asked them for identification. A man smiled at Lone and wished him luck for his course of studies in Plunderland. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 8 February 2025)

Malice in Plunderland

As Malice walked through Plunderland, a golf cart pulled to a stop in front of her. The driver, pale and nearly bald, leaned out and introduced himself, “I am Don Q. I’ve had my hair done just for you. Would you like to go for a ride in my limousine?” The man beside him began to introduce himself as Don Q’s squire Vanza, but the man in the back jumped onto Vanza’s lap and shouted, “I am Lone Odor, and my limousine is an electric rocket I will design and build just for you.” Malice sat on Don Q’s lap and cried, “Take me to the White Sea Lake of Plunderland!” (Andrew Shields, #111words, 7 February 2025)

Don Q’s vision of monuments and spacious villas

Don Q, Vanza, and Lone Odor stood on a hill and looked at a shoreline in the distance. No buildings stood between them and the sea. Wisps of smoke rose into the sky. “Look at the prospect before us,” said Don Q. “We shall build monuments and spacious villas all along this strip of land, by the grace of my high exploits.” Lone Odor chuckled; Vanza laughed and said, “I can see the tower of your vision reaching to the sky.” – “I will celebrate a popular feast here,” said Don Q, “with great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud to me for my achievements. No one would say no to that.” (Andrew Shields, #111words, 5 February 2025)

Vanza and the scent of Don Q

When Vanza became Don Q’s squire, he wondered about the noticeable smell. There was something musty and sweaty about it, with an insufficient touch of cologne. He knew at once he should never mention it to Don Q himself, or even to anyone else. So when Vanza and Don Q saw a frenetic man come down the road and reach out his hand to them, Vanza also said nothing about the potent scent, reminiscent of forests, that mingled with the now familiar aroma of his master. After praising Don Q for his vision and vigor, the man pointed to the windmills and introduced himself, “Lone Odor. Let’s fight the giants together.” (Andrew Shields, #111words, 4 February 2025)

“Mohalaca” in Jorge Luis Borges’s “La busca de Averroes” (1947)

In “La busca de Averroes”, a 1947 story by Jorge Luis Borges, I came across “mohalaca”, which isn’t in the Word Reference bilingual dictionary. So I checked Wikcionario, which had a definition – and its example was the passage from Borges’s story! “Mohalaca” is a Spanish spelling of the Arabic “Mu'allaqat”, “the hanging poems”, which refers to a set of pre-Islamic poems in Arabic that were hung up in the Kaaba in Mecca. Borges, the Argentine writer who was not yet completely blind in 1947, refers to the poem by Zuhayr bin Abi Sulma and its reference to a “blind camel”: “I see death is like the blundering of a blind camel”. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 3 February 2025)

Mexican President Sheinbaum’s statement in response to accusations by the Trump administration about Mexican drug cartels and the Mexican government

Yesterday, a “fact sheet” released by the administration of United States President Donald Trump claimed that “the Mexican drug trafficking organizations have an intolerable alliance with the government of Mexico”. In response, Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum issued a statement: “We categorically reject the slander made by the White House against the Government of Mexico, accusing it of having alliances with criminal organizations.” While I was pleased that I was able to read her statement in Spanish without looking anything up, I was also struck by its tone: this is how politicians worldwide, and especially Democratic Party politicians in the United States, should be talking to the bullies in the Trump administration. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 2 February 2025)

“Fork it!”: An expression I picked up from “The Good Place"

Yesterday, I was doing something in the kitchen, and something (I don't remember what) slipped out of my hand and spilled onto the counter. "Fork it!" I exclaimed, and was amused as always when I use that expression instead of the other work that starts with F and ends with K. I picked the "fork" version up from the television series "The Good Place" a few years ago: the characters in the "good place" in the afterlife cannot use swear words, so they say "fork" and "shirt" instead. Once, when Eleanor Shellstrop (Kristen Bell) finds herself outside of "the good place", she is thrilled to be able to cuss properly again. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 1 February 2025)