First day of the new year, or New Year’s Day. Helicopters bring tourists from New Jersey for a fly-by over Central Park and the buildings of my East Side neighborhood, making it sound as if this is a war zone, and I think about the ones who actually live in a war-zone– in Syria, Yemen, Iraq, etc. And the fires in Australia, referred to with insufficient alarm, except by David Wallace-Wells who writes (In the Intelligencer) that: Global Apathy Toward the Fires in Australia Is a Scary Portent for the Future.
We should leave, but where is there to go? Where is it safe and quiet now? 2020, you’re off to a rocky start.
Still, Paul and I will play music next month (for the first time in 7 years!) at a friend’s club in Brooklyn (The Owl Music Parlor– on February 6). I’ve been practicing every day, reminding my fingers how to play, feeling the songs again, feeling my way inside them. Singing is a marvel, a relief, like howling or crying. And songs are prayers, hopeful, magical, though things are bleak in the world and the concept of healing is hard to believe in. But we need to believe, to hope, (and play music).
February 6, 2020. Lori Carson (with Paul Pimsler), and Atoosa Grey at the Owl Music Parlor