Linear and curving, swerving in upon themselves,thin keening little pitches poke and thread like
needlefish into a tangling meshed cacophony:
uncomfortably layered, over-rich – caught between
dimensions of the craving for an assonance –
a lullaby of cadence – and the jagged bloody steely-
fisted lust for dissonance: a blunt affronted blast
attesting to the injury of being here at all. Exhausted
or distracted, this long storm of chords will
sometimes fall then into gentler and more palatable
form: thicken, warm, begin a ropily baroque
excursion into tonal ambiguity that finally relents
in an “amen.” Timbre, color, texture only creep in then:
perhaps to win, a bit, against the long foregoing
strife. Harmonies take years to shape a life.
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