I

The music for Fragments had been composed to fulfill the mandate of a grant. A friend - Jared Hunter - needed original music and asked for contributions. I decided to approach the compositional process from the perspective of fragmentation. To simply express and write little pieces that may grow from individual fragments into that which makes up the suite called Fragments, and in so doing, create a full work that is at all points fragments, yet, unified. This was a deeply liberating experience for me as it re-introduced me to an approach I had not worked with in years.

I used to do a fair amount of writing - in this fragmented form - in front of the television set in my Mother’s home when I was in my teens. As I was somewhat distracted, I wrote concisely the parts, melodies, phrases, and so forth, which I liked. At times it was, and is, like writing in a daydream. I was able to envisage ‘grooves’, ‘harmonies’, and ‘feels’ freely - not unlike picking the words that resonate as opposed to the poem entirely. Little sound bytes, catch phrases, cliches, and one-liners; this was the method I revisited as I wrote Fragments. Furthermore, the entire CD wasn’t finished until the night before the recording session.

Late additions to the recording session opened up new avenues. ‘In His Master’s Voice’ was written a few weeks before the recording session after I saw an inspired performance by the group Zebradonk (from Toronto, Canada). ‘The Dream (Angela Rose)’ suddenly fit. ‘The Last Days (of my life)’ - which I had written a few years prior - fit. ‘Watch Me Die (watch me try)’ was included - a tune I had written almost ten years prior to the recording session. The Postscript (made up of three solo piano pieces) - which had always been planned for the session - made more sense within the larger context of other additions. The Postscript was a small collection of tunes written almost ten years ago and it had been my original intention to record the CD Fragments followed by the CD Postscript, which was tentatively titled Unmusicological Postscript. This idea stemmed from the works of Soren Kierkegaard - Fragments and Unscientific Postscript.

The way in which this CD came together was exciting. What had originated as a series of compositions to fulfill the qualifications of a friend’s grant turned into something independent. It is precisely this attribute, this innate freedom within music - to free itself in what could be called a metaphysical way - that inspires and mystifies me to this day.

It is the space that is left behind which makes up Fragments - just as it is the space in a pot that we use to cook. Because of this space, I feel it is important to investigate all possible approaches and uses of space. Music is vast, yet only free when heard. The methods of cooking yields an immeasurable amount of scrumptious dishes, and, it is the case that many of these are made in the above mentioned space that exists in a pot. Thus something is the same, or continuous, yet, something is different, or discontinuous. Art on one level is a trade - which is its etymological root. But what it is that brings a melody to life is not the notes nor the words I here write. Rather, it is within the ‘listened’ and the personification of sound that a person brings meaning and absolutism to the surface. Each one of us is the pot, the receiver, the receptacle, the chalice, and by whatever way the potential of all sound, and as such, life.

II

The performances on the CD are in my view stellar. All of the members of this group brought these ‘fragments’ to life. Craig’s performance of the Postscript, as well as Songs Without Words, gives an additional dimension to this CD.

The way in which Craig plays the piano has always stood out for me. He is an individual who brings an unobtrusive diversity which always perfectly completes the music. I say this because much of what I write, as I write it, has Craig in mind. I have felt more open as a writer than ever before because of this relationship with Craig.

Bryden and David mesh together in a way that is rare for a saxophone player and trumpet player. When I listen back to their playing on the CD I am struck by how much give and take there is, and how freely each player gives to, and supports, the other. At times it is as if there is one line and they are both handing it back and forth to one another.

Jesse is a joy to work with. He is a strong voice and most importantly will venture out away from the bass. One of the hardest things for me as a bass player to accept is the conventional understanding that bass and drums play together. This is not a fundamental tenet for me; rather, bass and drums can create tension in a similar way to that of harmonic tension. In so doing, the bass and drums may establish a rich rhythmic foundation built upon the endless forms created within a continuum of tension and release. By developing such a relationship with continuity and discontinuity a new form may emerge. However, it is all the more essential to have a strong clear voice if this rhythmic dialectical is to be coherent. Jesse has this voice, and as a bass player speaking musically, he is a joy to speak with. Within my largely diatonic approach to writing music, tension and release in the rhythm section is tantamount in building a discontinuity that gives a different, or even divergent, perspective on a melody. With Jesse this is possible, and wonderful.

III

It is my hope that the listener may find something of themselves in this recording: their interests, joys, expressions, and wonder — of themselves, of life. Music is a language that expresses and communicates one’s feelings, thoughts, perspectives, and intuitions, both about themselves and others. Everything can be seen as language: for example, sex. However, I am here speaking generally. Language, and the classification of language, can be seen in terms of a series of linguistic attributes which, when established, provide distinction to the many forms of communication — in other words symbolism. Here I refer to language largely as a dialectical process and include symbolic, interpretive, intuitive, as well as discourse, which I see as a resultant of the former. In any case, music is language. The question here is not ‘what is language?’, but rather ‘what is music?’, and more to the point ‘how does music communicate?’.

My partner and I live in an apartment above a single woman. Each evening she arrives home from work and plays her stereo. Each night her musical selection shows an insight into the day she has had. No events are shown, no words spoken, but the feeling - moreover, her relation to that feeling - is shown. The songs that she plays reflect triumph and at other times melancholia. Sometimes the volume is an indicator, as when it is low things seem a little less extreme, almost bland, but when it’s loud and rocking you know she is having friends over. And at eleven they will all go out and at four a.m. they will come home, laughing and occasionally saying "shh", as they remember that there are the people upstairs.

What about the chap on the subway car with his Walkman? The guy who bobs his head, hums, and forgets—or doesn’t care—that all we hear is his humming, and see his head bobbing back and forth. What is happening? Well, he is listening to the music that expresses him in some way and/or at sometime. This is the sound that builds him up or tears him down. It is the music that brings an image, a persona, a role within an inner drama or fantasy, and a feeling that rises momentarily above all else. And as long as the song plays and the melody and rhythm moves us we are found — wherever that may be.

It is within this dialectical process, this internal exchange, and this psychological dance, that each person divulges their inner world to their exterior environment. If it is a sadness that overwhelms us, that eludes us, then when we play a certain song we are, if only for a moment, complete.

Regardless of whether it is joy or pain, no matter how long or short the experience, we are whole again and as such found. If the song is not long enough then we press rewind and play again. Once more we hear our inner-world express itself before our eyes. If it is too much to handle, if it hurts us, shocks us, or brings us to tears, we can stop and step away.

There is a sacred moment, one could say, when a certain note and/or lyric crosses our vision and tears slip from our eyes. If we wait within that moment, don’t we feel that we are truly feeling, and as such, that we are truly alive? If we have been afraid to cry, we forget; if we have been afraid to yell, we forget; if we have been afraid to hold on to our ‘silly’ dream, we forget; and if we have been afraid to stand alone and hold ourselves and dance, we forget. There, within these moments, our truest expressions come to life and enter the world expressing our nature and our vision.

Music can express our anger, our frustration, our triumph, our fears and our anxiety. Perhaps we express our inner-world within a community, and find kindred spirits in the places we could only find within ourselves. Perhaps it is important for us to be a part of a clique, or, perhaps it is important for us to be on our own. In either case, music expresses and provides for all of this. Music is community, be it inner or outer; music is community - the community of spirits, as I once read. What is possible in this community is infinite and never fully told. Each person may open or close as they see or feel necessary. Start again or revisit a place now passed.

One thing is certain, when we listen, as we listen, we are never alone. Even if it is a single entity that watches, we are, nevertheless, watched. And as we are watched, we express ourselves within the visions we create. Who we are, who we want to be, who we hope to be, how we see ourselves, all come to us on the back of a melody; played in time and space and then dropped away, we look again to the memory of this melody that momentarily told us ‘We are here’. We divulge our inner world to the exterior environment and momentarily, without fear, become free.

For some people music is an act that allows us to speak and feel; for others it is an affirmation of our life, our social role and position, even responsibilities. For others it is a reference to their interests; still others it is a reference to their heritage, or perhaps their education. For the woman who lives downstairs, music is an expression of the day she had, and perhaps the night she will have, and the past she has lived. Each day she arrives home and musically reminds herself of herself. She picks the music, sometimes sings along, and then, when it is all over, goes to bed. I can’t know for sure, but I presume life would be different for her without her musical identity, perhaps even harder or impossible, if she didn’t have this outlet. I know it would for me.

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