title quote by Adolfo Bioy Casares
A few things that have thrilled me of late:
Let’s Get Lost, a documentary about the decline of jazz musician Chet Baker, shot in the lushest of blacks-and-whites. It also features inexplicable and dreamy interludes with Flea and Chris Isaak.
Nicolas Jaar’s profoundly gorgeous Essential Mix for the BBC. Love the intro with Angelo Badalamenti describing the inception of the Twin Peaks theme.
The woman, I passed by, playing an out-of-tune but still upright piano beneath this archway in Fort Tryon Park.
Brian Eno’s ruminations on his childhood in this rambling, previously unpublished interview by the late Lester Bangs.
Last night I saw Patti Smith read in Brooklyn Bridge Park beneath a glorious sunset, electric turquoise and flamingo pink. She sipped turmeric tea and recounted her first meeting with Alan Ginsberg before launching into the footnote to Howl. She claimed the best dancers in the world are from South Jersey yet recited Piss Factory, which tells all you need to know about why she left. She read a lovely, sad little poem, Indian Rubies, about fetish objects and loss. She shouted out Pussy Riot, showed off her tour boots and urged the crowd to put their creative work first.
Thank you, Patti Smith.
photos: Amy Grimm