weaving back from the bathroom, i pull
up a seat and listen. "we're trying to
figure out the best way to live," anton
says. "i want goals, meaning,
i sit back, lick the foam from a black & tan
out of my mustache. how can you answer that?
not a choice. my eyes circle
the chords with the trumpeter who leans back,
eyes closed, working his drummer around
the tune. he pulls off his mouthpiece and
blows into the bell of the horn. the sound
as it escapes the other end is eerie and new.
--c. tim jarrett (18 june 93)
(written after an evening in a local bar, watching the
john d'earth quartet with special guest tim reynolds
on guitar. yes, john did play the trumpet as i described.