Topdog Underdog

February 11, 2019 in life

For a long time, I wanted to be a topdog. Whatever that means.

Yes, I admit to my ego and vanity and to my need to be recognized. I wanted accolades. I also thought that I can be more effective in helping artists if I had more external power. Like, my simply saying, “hey, so and so is the shit” would open doors for that artist. But it wasn’t happening. Yes, I always had an enormous artistic freedom to do whatever I like at The Jazz Gallery but I felt like everything I was trying to do went mostly unnoticed by power that be. And whenever I encountered an artist I really like to push, others took my opinion with grains of salt. Big ones.

It took me a long time to realize that that actually was an incredible blessing in disguise: to be an underdog. It made me bold and courageous and independent and I was able to operate just the way I like without being picked on or criticized, because I didn’t really matter.

Youth Is Wasted On Youth

February 04, 2019 in life, music

One of the most amazing things about being in NYC, if you are a jazz musician of sort, is that the biggest cats are down to hang and play with you if they are free and feel like it. This does not happen in any other city in the world. Not that I know of. But I’m pretty sure NYC is special like that.

So then, I don’t get it when young cats play only with the people they know. Over and over. Why? Some young musicians decline gigs when I offer them one because their band members are not available. What? You play jazz, no? You can’t go with the flow? Why not call people whom you admire? Why not get together with them and get your ass kicked? Learn a thing or two or ten. It’s good for you. We have a saying in Japan, “You should seek hardships even if you have to pay for it.” I don’t know if that’s a good translation but you get the idea. Humble pies are good for you.

One of the blessings of my youth (I wasn’t that young, lol, but I was young at the business) was that when I started helping out around The Jazz Gallery in 2000, there was a lot of room for errors. For different reasons. The Jazz Gallery wasn’t what it is and Dale (Fitzgerald) was totally ok with me making dumb mistakes and learn from them. So I did. I mean, I didn’t know that that was what was happening at that time. It was more like the case of, “ignorance is bliss.” I had ideas galore and I wanted to try and do all kinds of things. Some worked and some didn’t. And because The Jazz Gallery itself was still at the stage of figuring itself out, I was able to experiment and explore and then define my voice and grew into the Artistic Director that I am today. By doing and making many many mistakes. I grew up with The Jazz Gallery. My trials and errors made The Gallery what it is. I was given a rather safe place to fall on my face and get up and do it, again. Yes, I had to get up quickly and eat plenty of humbles pies but I think I took like a champ. Lol.

Quantum Physics of It

January 31, 2019 in poetry

you called me from Uppsala
hey
how are you, ma?
good, you?
your voice traveled the wire
and mine traveled back
a little delay and echo
i thought of the distance between us
and then of what does not concern time nor space

Sophisticated Blah

January 25, 2019 in life, music

Music is a means to an end.

Music itself is not the goal. You have something you’d like to communicate to other humans and you choose to do so with music. You compose not to show off your skills on your instrument nor to exhibit your knowledge of some indigenous musical traditions nor to make yourself look deep. No. None of that. I mean, these behaviors do tell me a lot about who you are and how you go through life and I suppose that is informative but that is not the type of information I’m looking for.

Let me put it this way. Having perfect English grammar does not make you a poet. It’s you and your point of view that make you a poet. To read your poetry is to see the world through a filter that is you. Distilment of your essence is what makes poetry. Giving shapes to wordless things in your own way is what resonates in us when we read good poetry. Good grammar is helpful but not essential in the art form and in communicating through poetry.

I think the same goes for music. It’s not your knowledge of harmony nor dexterity on the instrument that I want to hear. I mean these things can be fun for a minute but they get old real quick. I want to hear you. What are you thinking? What are you feeling? What does the world look/feel/taste/smell like through you? That’s what I want to hear. Tell me about you. Tell me about how you process the world. Not about what you can do. Not about what you know.

It's Alive!

January 15, 2019

Jazz is best served live. If it’s raw, even better.

I always knew that and that’s how I usually like it but I didn’t know to what extent until Roy (Hargrove) passed.

I just couldn’t (still can’t) get over the fact that I would never hear Roy play live; never to experience the joy and excitement Roy sparked every time he put his mouth to the horn. It’s inexplicable and dependable and addictive and singular and rare. That feeling of something swelling in the room. It is intimate and communal all at the same time and it feels like there is just me and the music in the world but then I am connected to something fundamental. My head bopping. My grin so wide. And my heart is full. Full with good stuff. That joyful liveliness that makes me so glad to be there. It just felt good. Like first gulp of water after a workout. Like slumping onto a clean and warm bed at the end of a long day. Like an embrace from an absolute favorite person. I know that it is gonna feel good and it always does and it never fails. That’s how it was to hear Roy Hargrove live.

That feeling cannot be found in any of Roy’s recordings. Yes, he had some really good albums and I enjoy listening to them (especially now) but nothing compares to Roy in the flesh. I can’t find that thing on any recordings, thing that vibrates the clubs and concert halls and made us all soar. Roy did that. He commanded all of us with his horn and his energy and we were happy to oblige. So much is missing in the recordings and videos and whatever. The thing that makes music shimmer and dance. You can’t feel that. Recorded version of Roy just makes me remember and trace the memories of how he lifted us. It’s just not quite. Compare to the live concerts, recordings are like shadows. If someone comes to Roy anew at this point, s/he will never experience him live, which is almost like you don’t experience him at all. If you ever heard him live, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Revolution is Tedious

December 31, 2018 in life

This has been a hard and long year.

One thing that seemed (and continue to be) to be on everyone’s mind and contributed to this hardness is how our government is falling apart. And it feels like everything is falling apart. There have been many people who said that our government structure is created to withstand tyranny but I never bought that. Just look at the world’s history. Nothing is infallible. Everything falls apart.

It is easy to find others to blame for the state we find ourselves in. Trump, yes. Russia, yes. Uneducated emotional voters, yes. Special interest groups, yes. Facebook, yes. But at the end of the day, blaming others does not solve any problem. Feeling righteous feels kinda nice for a moment but it compounds the problem by further isolating and separating people/us who should be finding common grounds and work together. Anyone who reads any type of spiritual books or on Instagram or watch Oprah knows that change has to start with each one of us. You know? Be the change you want to see. Because ultimately, I am/you are the only thing we can change in our lives (unless you have some supernatural psychic powers). This sounds totally self-evident and so obvious yet it warrants repeating times and again because we love finding fault in others and we think, “Oh, only if s/he does so and so….” Yes, yes, I’m guilty as charged. I know. But I somehow also manage to remember, nono, it starts with me. This is true on a very personal level and this is true for having a functional government that finds common human interests and serve that greater good. Each one of us have to own what is happening. We have to realize that we made what is happening happen. That sucks, yes, but admitting each one of us has a problem is the first step.

A Natural Element Called Roy

December 30, 2018 in music, life

A few people asked me to write about Roy Hargrove. Almost immediately after his death. It is difficult to write about another person even if I’ve known him for a long long time. I was also in deep shock that I was so shocked at his passing. I always kind of thought that he’d outlive everyone despite the serious illness. I couldn’t believe that I can’t argue with him anymore nor will never get to forget about the fight after hearing him play one note. I was stunned. I cried so hard at the news that I had to catch my breath. It was a bodyblow I was not expecting.

A lot of people already have written about Roy's music in online media. For about a week, Roy was everywhere every time I opened my computer: About the conversations people had with Roy; Brief yet immensely memorable interactions; Notes that he played. I thought to myself, wow, Roy was loved by many but then the next moment I had this feeling, like I just realized I didn’t button my shirt correctly. Roy didn’t really have a friend and he was always lonesome.

Undefined

December 18, 2018 in life

Sometimes I wish I remember the time when I didn’t not how to read. The times when I had no words to describe what I saw, what I felt, and even what I was thinking. Everything just was. Words and language are collections of point of views organized and formalized by other humans who came before me in the area I was born in. I was free from those influences. I know that I had a few early years when everything offered themselves to me with freshness and I was free to approach the world however I wish: if not in action, at least in my thoughts.

Then the words came and I was told the names of the colors and how to express my feelings in the ways that are acceptable to the group of people who surrounded me. My magical years were over. Although I don’t remember what those first few years were like, I would imagine that those time had significant impact on who I am today. (Or not.) As I was assigned words and traditions to mold me into what is considered acceptable to my people and culture, whatever I was before and wordless undefined memories faded.

Eye Hear You

December 17, 2018 in music

Going to live music events is multi-sensory experience.

I enjoy concerts where everything make sense and everything goes together. I like it when the venue and music match. I like it when lighting heighten the moods. I like it when musicians on the stage put some thoughts into their outfits and their presentation. I appreciate it when I can tell that cats on the stage know that I, we, the audience is there and we matter to them. I enjoy the way music vibrates not only my eardrums but also my entire being. I like the overall thoughtfulness.

This, unfortunately, does not happen very often in jazz. Musicians work hard on music. They practice tirelessly to perfect their crafts and spend hours putting music together painstakingly. Yet, somehow, everything else is neglected. Some argue that nothing should matter but music. I feel you but I don’t necessarily agree. I think it is important for cats to understand that how you serve up what you are cooking really matters and can make a huge difference in audience’s experience and in turn, yours. And you are artists. Why limit yourself to just music when expressing whatever it is that you want to express. Yes, your speciality is music but your creativity can take many forms.

Here/There

November 30, 2018 in life

I think a lot about death not because I’m afraid of it but because I wonder about it. Then someone close me passed away recently and that got me thinking about it even more. What it means to live. What it means to die. Or is there any difference between these two things?

I understand death to be a form of existing. A way of being in this universe. We give the word “death” to the phenomenon of losing flesh. Losing of the container. And somehow most of us fear the end of our flesh. “Death” sounds dark and horrible. I sometimes wonder, though, dying might be like casually stepping over a very thin line. I’m on this side and now I’m on the other side, like you are simply and unceremoniously stepping over a line. Just like that. I was alive and now I’m dead and I still am. I also imagine that release from my flesh might be an enormously emancipating. I will not be tormented by wants and needs created by flesh and I am not limited and separated by my flesh.

on love #3

November 15, 2018 in poetry

it is snowing

midnight has come and gone

i sit with a little lamp

snow is eating the sound

i can hear it

and i think to myself

how i love my children

it is so cold

it is so warm

i feel everything and

i realize nothing matters

the moment i cease to exist

i am the happiest

A Guardian of Being a.k.a. Roy Hargrove

November 09, 2018 in life, music

Roy was a guardian of being.

Just like flowers, trees, winds, and a puppy. He said, “Universe is moving right on time with us. So move on.” He was always in the moment. All he dealt with was here and now.

It sounds wonderful but it is hard to go through life in that way when everyone else around him wanted more than that moment. People wanted friendship, association, love, relationships, hoping for a bit of crumbs in any shape or form… which created the need for past and future; which created necessity for remembering and planning. Roy was not that person. He was always only in the moment. Hard and sincerely. In that moment, he meant everything he did; he meant every words he said; he felt everything he felt. There was no lie or deception in that. But because the rest of us don’t know how to deal with that truness of being, he had to lie and deceive and manipulate, so that he can somewhat sustain a facade of being a human and move through this world in flesh.

on love

November 05, 2018 in poetry

I can't smell it
I can't touch it
If I try to grab it
It will escape through my fingers
Teasing me with memories of it
It is not meant to be seen
I can't taste it
I might have heard it in your
Voice
But I can't say for sure
I feel it
Though
Strongly
Deep within
It ties me to you and
You to me
Its flow
Excites me
Frees me
Upsets me
Saddens me
It insists on its presence
Like a little child then
It withdraws
Making me
Doubt my sanity

Midwifery of Life - For Dennis Charles

November 01, 2018 in poetry

I've been pregnant
With agony
For a long long time
So long a time that
I thought my baby turned into
A great stone
It pressed me
Inside out
I dragged my feet
Everywhere
My stone baby was
Not warm not soft
Rough and sharp
It scraped me
Inside
It won't let me
Forget
Exquisitely heavy deep
And hallow

I Am Only A Person

October 31, 2018 in music, life

I am not a gig booking machine.

There are people who only talk about wanting to play at The Jazz Gallery every time I see them. Put yourself in my shoes. What do you think you’d do. Wouldn’t you want to avoid yourself? You can argue that it’s my job and I should suck it up. Perhaps. But I am telling you that it won’t serve you and your purpose well if you keep pushing your agendas only.

I’m only a human-being after all.

on love #4

October 28, 2018 in poetry

the thing is

it has to be exactly

the shape the feel the odor

substitution never

never

suffice

I SWEAR

October 27, 2018 in life

I curse freely in front of my children. I have been a potty mouth all my life, in Japanese and in English, and most likely I will continue to be so. I saw an Instagram quote saying, “Libras are fluent in at least five languages: English, Profanity, Sarcasm, Truth, and Love.” Yes, we are.

For the first fews years after my kids’ were born, I thought maybe I should stop or at least curve my cursing. I sort of tried; but it would inevitably pop up here and there. Old habits die hard. Then I had a second thought and I stopped stopping.

I told my kids that I will keep talking the way I always have (including cursing and what not) and I personally see there is nothing wrong with that: however, they are not allowed to curse. Not until they are 18 and they are out of my house and making their own money. At that point, they can express themselves however they want and accept the rewards/consequences of their choices. Until then, I told them that they are not allowed to curse anywhere because if they do people are going to think that I’m a horrible mother and some child protection people will take them away and put them in foster homes and they won’t live with me ever again. They were pretty young but they understood that my threat was not entirely true, yet, they got that I meant business.

synonymous

October 26, 2018 in poetry

It has to be high to be low
There has to be left to be right
If you keep walking East
You will end up in West
You can’t taste sweetness without
Salty bitter spicy

So you open your arms wide
And you just take it
Take it all
Because it is all the same thing
One can’t be without the other
Sadness and joy do not sit at the opposite ends
You gotta have depth to achieve highest high
You can only grow with the roots that dig this earth

There is no line between love and hate
Thick or thin
One can morph into the other
Just like that
And sometimes it hurts so good
It is all the same

So you just take it
As is
Because it just is
Because you just are

Lonely Wo/man

October 25, 2018 in life

It is a lonesome thing. To be an artist.

When you are an artist, you are truly alone. Or should I say, being an artist unquestionably brings on a realization that we all are alone. Whether we like it or not.

It is for each of us to know how we figure in the genre/community you work in and it is for us to know if what we are doing is any good. Nobody is going to tell you. Ever. And even if someone decides to give us an honest (whatever that means) opinion, it is just that. It’s an opinion. If that person is in a position of power and s/he has positive reaction to the work, it can mean something but it still doesn’t say anything about the goodness/badness/soulfulness/pointlessness/beauty/roughness of our craft. Not in an absolute way which all artists ache for. It is such a lonely place to be.

There was a period of time in my life when I used to frequent poetry slams at the Nuyorican and Bowery Poetry. I wanted someone to tell me if I was any good. My ego wanted praise and my insecurity craved approval. I fared alright. I won some nights and I got invited to invitation-only Friday slams. Some people came up to me to say how they loved my writing. All that didn’t give me the confirmation I was looking for because that’s the wrong place to look.

It is for me to know. If I’m writing piece of shit or if I’m any good. I have to decide. I had to get with myself. And that’s rough. That’s lonesome.

Dancing the Music - For Pharaoh

October 22, 2018 in poetry

You dance the music
On the thin line
Drawn in between
Arrogance and confidence
Looking for uncharted territory
Night after night
Hunting for a glimpse of
That moment
That forces you to come back
To agony and joy
Of birthing your essence

Years of loving
Years of dedication
Sweat pouring
For your libation
Passing and digesting
Hours of solitude
Drenched in notes
Sixteenth
Eighth
Quarter
Half
And whole
Now you
Dance the music
Like
Flying was your
Second nature

The lights glaze you with red sheen
Sweat shimmering down your face
Dark and statuesque
Wearing mysteries
Like you were born in it
Music flows
Time bends
Now is forever
and forever is now