To see the world with a grain of salt

[Owen Davidson <owend...>]

(This is intended lightly.  I will provide salt-licks for all who feel
inclined to take me seriously.)

Guide me, fellows, for I am perplexed.

I went to Klez Kamp this past month, and many are the marvels I have
witnessed with my own eyes!  Most have been processed without pain; a
few have required further reflection.  One only has stood out, has vexed

& itched & chafed until I must cry out:

"Wha-HUH?"

Here stands Frank London, author and engine of an entire new body of
Jewish spiritual music, with his assigned ensemble.  They seem
distracted, detached from the usual priming and primping that presage
these ensemble performances.  They stand with heads bowed.  Is it Om or
Nu?

A wispy excursion makes itself heard on an accordion.  Gradually, the
ensemble picks it up and builds to a spiritual enthusiasm.  A brassy
sound growing as horns grow: crescendi, in spiral inspirations. This
subsides abruptly enough to prompt a flurry of applause from the
audience.  In response, the performers bow among themselves, rather than

to the audience.

What is humility, after all?  The act of self-abasement can take on
tones of grandiosity, and is always suspect ("Look who thinks he's
nothing!" as the old joke goes).  The deliberate self-absorbtion evinced

by the performers now serves to humble the audience.  "Oops!  We clapped

when they weren't done!  We were the insensitive audience!"

And what, dear friends, was the clue that they weren't done?  Why, it
was that the accordion kept playing, improvising until the audience
recovered its composure.

Ahem.  Oh yes.  Silly us.  The accordion player is still going on.

Another building and expanding period ensues.  Here the bricks, here the

mortar, here the nova, here the onions.  A climax, better and more
emphatic than before, and a more definite conclusion.

Again the applause.  Again the withdrawn humility. And again the
accordion, playing with the express intent of being drowned out by the
audience.  Huh!  I think they're doing it on purpose!  As soon as the
applause dies down, the ensemble takes over, building to yet another
group orgasm.

The best!  Oh, yes, khevre, this is the definite climax of this
ensemble! This time the audience really know it's finished!  And again
the humble
inward bows, until the applause dies away enough for the audience to see

that the accordion is still playing, as if innocent, as if accepting.

Then come the real bows, thanks to that accordionist, who remained
unheard throughout.

May I never know the pain of the accordionist, whose labor goes in
vain!  Who alone strives for completeness and unification!  Did we not
remember our base origins, we would have no platform from which to grasp

at the firmament.  We get so full of our own prowess that we
forget to consider from what mud we build our cities.  It's a slimy
muck, down there by the roots.  There are alligators in there.
Accordions, even.

Owen



--
Owen Davidson
Amherst  Mass
Repair, Construction and Design of Musical Instruments

The Angel that presided oer my birth
Said Little creature formd of Joy & Mirth
Go Love without the help of any King on Earth

Wm. Blake




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