Kraig Grady: composer, metallophone
Jim Denley: bass flute, alto saxophone and wooden flute
Mike Majkowski: upright bass
Erin Barnes: metallophone
Jonathan Marmor: metallophone

1. Our Rainy Season  (49:12)
2. Nuilagi  (25:54)

"The two pieces on this album reflect the sounds and the duality of the
experiences of our rainy seasons. The first is an internal reflection sifted
through memories. The second is a realization of the very music played
by the people of Anaphoria to give thanks to the rain.

Our Rainy Season features only two but highly skilled improvisers: Jim
Denley and Mike Majkowski. The artists were asked to improvise on single
notes with extreme pitch accuracy to within one tenth of a cent, which they
could evaluate with the aid of a visual display while performing. While the
tuning for
Our Rainy Season is from Anaphoria, it resembles a scale once
found among the Chopi people in the village of Mavila in Mozambique, an
area that likewise experiences its own severe rainy season. In the process
of composing another work, Beyond The Windows, it became more and
more noticeable how various nuances of the performers’ gestures
contributed to the feel and personality of the piece. It was in
Our Rainy
Season
that these possibilities could be fully explored.

Nuilagi reflects the newer style of music-making found during the wet
months of Anaphoria. We hear the sounds of rain embraced by the trio of
metallophones playing in their Meta-Slendro scale. The piece celebrates
the coming of the rainy season after the relentless dry season that
precedes it. Anaphorian performers (pseudonyms used to confuse evil
spirits): Erin Barnes, Jonathan Marmor, Kraig Grady."  (Kraig Grady)


Kraig Grady is a composer/decomposer/sound explorer. Since 1975 he
has pursued the formation of ensembles of acoustic microtonal
instruments of his own design/modification to explore an interaction with
environmental spaces, the contextual influence of visionary space, and
psychoacoustical pitch phenomena. Seeing personal fulfillment as not
possible within the confines of specialization, he has also engaged
extensively as a shadow puppeteer, tuning theorist, filmmaker, world
music radio DJ and concert promoter. His compositions often include
interactions with his own silent films and shadow plays.

The 90’s saw Grady’s first work connected to the activities of The North
American Embassy of Anaphoria Island and more recently The
Austronesian Outpost of Anaphoria. Both organizations serve to promote
the visionary geographical culture of this island.

Despite the fact that the nature and size of his instruments make touring
difficult and rare, his work has been presented at Ballhaus Naunyn Berlin
(Germany), the Chateau de la Napoule (France), the Norton Simon
Museum of Art (Los Angeles), the Institute of Modern Art (Brisbane), and
the Pacific Asia Museum. Generally it has been within reach of his locales
where he engages in most of his activities.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
catalog number: either/5
artist: KRAIG GRADY
title: Our Rainy Season / Nuilagi
format: CD
status:
available
JUST OUTSIDE  (MARCH 2011)
A new name to me, Kraig Grady is apparently something of a fixture on
the LA scene having absorbed Partch's influence via studies with one of his
apostles, Dean Drummond. Oh, he's also a resident and perhaps chief
honcho of the mysterious island-nation of Anaphoria, which land mass
Google Earth has conspiratorially removed from its maps, but that's
another story?

Well, actually, no, as the two pieces presented herein attempt to evoke
the complex relationship Anaphorians have with their rainy season, the
aptly titled, "Our Rainy Season" is a scored piece for reads (Jim Denley,
bass flute, alto sax and wooden flute) and string bass (Mike Majkowski),
multi-tracked, each musician improvising on "single notes with extreme
pitch accuracy to within one tenth of a cent." It's long, a bit over 49
minutes, but works remarkably well within these parameters. Not only is
that "single note" approached in a seemingly ever-changing variety of
ways (each lasting several minutes so that there's no sense of haphazard
rushing about) but, perhaps by virtue of that limit, there's a very strong
structural sense felt throughout. I'm not sure that the single-note
specification holds absolutely at all times but often enough, the range of
timbres and attacks provides a really impressive amount of variety and
easily holds one's interest. A very fine piece of its type.

"Nuilage" is for three metallophones (Grady, Erin Barnes and Jonathan
Marmor). I think it's virtually impossible to play finely tuned
metallophones of any ilk and not produce an attractive sound. It's also
difficult to escape that gamelan sound, often an awkward, if enticing, trap
for non-Indonesians. More of an issue here, for me, is a lack of that
tensile strength of the previous work. Here, while the sounds are
enjoyable enough (and some wonderful sonorities are achieved about 3/4
the way through), the piece meanders a bit, never concentrating its focus
with the obsessiveness shown earlier. One feels the need for dancers or
shadow puppets to complete the picture.

Still, a good effort and I'm glad to have finally made Mr. Grady's audio
acquaintance.  
(Brian Olewnick)
VITAL WEEKLY  (MARCH 2011)
Back in Vital Weekly 582 I first encountered the music of Kraig Grady. It
was an amazing CD, compared with the best of Alvin Lucier, Phill Niblock,
Ingram Marshall. Since then there have been more releases, in which
Grady explores his own tuning system. I do believe he is a writer of scores
which are performed by other musicians, but then maybe I am wrong. Two
lengthy pieces here on ‘Our Rainy Season/Nuilagi’. The first is performed
by Jim Denley (bass flute, alto sax and wooden flute) and Mike Majkowski
(upright bass), while the second deals with metallophones played by Erin
Barnes, Jonathan Marmor and Graidy himself. As said its not easy to
figure how Grady works. In ‘Our Rainy Season’, Denley and Majkowski were
asked to improvise on single notes with extreme pitch accuracy. I assume
Grady then took these recordings to the computer and collate a piece of
music out of it (or perhaps I am entirely wrong, and this is them playing
together without much editing – the cover is not entirely clear about this).
Its an almost fifty minutes piece of music which has all the great things
that I like in music: long sustaining, acoustic sounds, which at times
sound like sine waves, and making beautiful tonal drifts. ‘Nuilagi’ is about
half that length (and perhaps you could wonder if that first piece isn’t
enough for one CD) and ‘celebrates the coming of the rainy season after
the relentless dry season that precedes it’ and has a likewise beautiful
touch to it. It reminded me of Indonesian music (Grady already produced
a LP for Ini.itu, whose aim is to deal with Indonesian music in new
contexts). Ringing overtones, slowing down, fading out, but then, curiously
returning in a full force, perhaps even a bit louder, and then the process
of decay starts again. Two excellent pieces of modern classical music with
a strong exotic touch. No longer the big surprise, but a fine continuation of
what Grady has already planted.
(Frans de Waard)
FOUTER & SWICK  (MARCH 2011)
Grady’s new album, released on Dale Lloyd’s either/oar label, consists of
two pieces, Our Rainy Season [49:12] and Nuilagi [25:54].

Before we go into the music itself we should begin by taking a good look
at the background to this music. If you don’t do this, you’ll come to
conclusions such as the one I read recently which described this work as
‘modern classical music with a strong exotic touch’. I can understand why
someone would say this – the music is pitch based and the instruments
are conventional ‘orchestral instruments’. But the truth of the matter is
that the tonal system has as much to do with classical music as
intelligence has with military intelligence and the instruments are, well,
simply instruments, tools for realising a musical idea. You could, if you
wanted to take an non-ethnocentric view, balance the equation by saying
that the music is exotic with a classical touch. I’ve no doubt that it will in
time be described as ambient, dronal and (of course) minimalist, for good
measure.

None of these descriptions or categories are sufficient. For a start Grady
has been investigating justly intoned instrumental music for over three
decades. He is held in high esteem within several overlapping musical
communities, not least because of his role in carrying forward the project
initiated by Harry Partch. Unlike Partch, though, Grady makes music that
allows the tuning systems to develop their inner logic, the harmonies to
breathe, without regressing into mere demonstrations. Though I would
take nothing away from Partch’s project and pioneering work, I always felt
that his music was too fast for my ears to appreciate the possibilities that
the elaborate tuning system was set up to exploit. Grady is also one of
the few people I know who can hold his own within the scholastic, pedantic,
inquisitional arcane mathematical environment that weighs down upon
most of the specialist discussion forums on tuning. I’ve pitched in to these
forums from time to time and have been promptly slaughtered. In fact he
sheds light where others obfuscate, simply because he puts theory into
practice. He now takes time to discuss within the safe haven of a non-
confrontational forum on Justly Intoned music. More recently Grady’s work
is being associated with the wider field of sound art, which I welcome
greatly as it brings his music to new appreciative audiences and lays down
some serious benchmarks.

Kraig Grady is part and parcel of the island of Anaphoria, which lends to
him something of the ethnographer and something of the surrealist, a
fine combination indeed, though I’m never sure in what order. Anyone can
contribute and become a friend. I’m holding out for a position as Honorary
Consulate. I’ll leave you to sort out Anaphoria for yourself, pausing only
to draw your attention to The Anaphorian papers authored by theorist Erv
Wilson and archived by Grady, which will keep you informed on all aspects
of Just Intonation, but will take you years to interpret and put to use. Erv
Wilson still awaits a full appreciation by the wider musical community.
Having assimilated the theory, designed (or chosen) and auditioned the
scales you prefer, you then have to make your own instruments, maintain
and store them, coerce other players into playing and recording your
compositions, find venues and promote concerts, all largely without
institutional support. It’s like running an entire orchestra on your own.

So, even before listening, I’m persuaded to hold Grady’s work in the
highest esteem. The title of the work,
Our Rainy Season, is typical of Grady’
s universe, where biophonic and geophonic sound worlds tend to coalesce
and combine. Hence Grady’s work throughout his career in accompanying
shadow theatre, where the evocation of various natural phenomena in
mythical narratives is so important. From personal correspondence I’ve
learned that Grady ‘did not shy away from the noise elements produced by
the instruments. There are places of high hiss, almost like what one hears
in a thick but gentle rain’, further evidence, possibly, of Grady’s
recontextualisation of his own work within the wider field of sound art,
steering sensibly away from the sterile scholastics.

Our Rainy Season makes us of a scale called Meta-Mavila. Nuilagi uses the
Meta-Slendro, a scale used by Grady throughout much of his previous
work. These scales are highly elaborate abstractions drawn from existing
scales and scale systems: Mavila from Mozambique, slendros from
Indonesia. The older indigenous scales are primarily melodic, with uneven
intervals between the tones. These lend themselves to compositional
techniques such as heterophony, for example, in the marimba ensembles
of Mozambique and in the gamelans of Indonesia. The modern
abstractions, whilst taking their ‘inspiration’ from the older forms, are
designed to offer the composer a wide range of harmonic options.
Because of the arithmetic involved, combinations of tones sounded
together will ‘contain’ the fundamentals and harmonics of other tones in
the system. Composition with these scales draws the composer into
number systems, geometric representations of harmonic matrices and
conceptual approaches to developing scores.

We can look at the origins of this scale with the Chopi people of
Mozambique (scroll down to Sunday, January 17, 2010). To appreciate the
kind of transformation that takes place when Erv Wilson turns his hand to
an ‘original’ African scale, have a look at this. See what I mean by
complexity and a scientific approach? Part of the reason this looks so
complicated is that you have the use of numbers to refer to several
different categories: pitches, frequencies, cents, ratios, tone position in
recurrent sequences. For those familiar with the system, Grady has chosen
a specific range as his preferred area (see page 5) for the Meta-Mavila as
played in
Our Rainy Season: the nine tones from 37 to 415.

Grady differs from the majority of Just Intonation composers in that he
not only approaches the wonderful world of tuning like a dedicated
research scientist, hence the several decades invested in his work, but
actually applies what he has learned to real music played on physical
instruments. But why break with 12 tone equal temperament? That
argument is for others to develop elsewhere but there are convincing
answers on Grady’s own blog if you care to spend some time there. The
problem is that in order to be able to listen to new systems we need first
to develop those systems and then to build new instruments or modify
existing ones. That seems to have been a bridge too far for the Academy
in general. Digital technology can help the curious, but if justly intoned
music is to make an impression on the world of 12 equal there can be no
substitute for physical instruments.

The idea behind
Our Rainy Season, as outlined in the sleeve notes, is that
the players use a Peterson strobe tuner to monitor their tuning accuracy
whilst improvising on the tones of the scale. Over the duration of a piece,
with two players, various combination and difference tones will arise,
suggesting new directions, and the ears of the improvisers will decide
where we go from there. I can see why a Peterson would work: the strobe’s
(or virtual strobe) visual display is very friendly and coaxes you along to
the true pitch rather than just telling you when you’ve reached it, thereby
offering an elegant solution to the problem of how wind players in
particular can hold pitch in works which make use of just intonation tuning
systems. You can have a virtual fouter around for yourself here. From the
very start of the piece, upper partials seem to be strongly emphasised;
then the players explore the timbres and various articulations of their
chosen instruments. The music is quite unlike anything else I’ve heard,
utterly compelling and totally original.

Grady has previously explored the Meta-Mavila on his own hand made
instruments. In choosing here to work with conventional instruments,
solving the problem of tuning by a conceptual approach to appropriate
technology, he avoids two of the problems that have given Just Intonation
and microtonal music in general a bad press in some quarters (‘it sounds
out of tune’). First, in relying on good musicians to use their ears to let
the piece develop/grow/evolve organically, he avoids some of those truly
dreadful efforts where bits of plumbing are welded on to clarinets, or
where fast gestures are thrown together on to a meticulously notated
score and interpreted by a virtuosic player, with no-one, including the
player, really able to tell how close to the score we are at any given point.
Secondly, he steers away from electronic methods of rendering the tones,
not that I’d expect him to make use of midi synths and retuning software,
but there are plenty out there who do – and unless you use your ears well
it all still sounds like an effing stylophone!

So, on one level we have an excellent inventive twist on the use of the
Meta-Mavila. In the simplicity of his concept he surpasses my own efforts
to find practical playing solutions. In investigating ways to have
conventional instruments play music composed using the Eikosany, a just
intonation twenty tone scale system, I arrived at the ‘solution’ of a string
quintets (actually two) with each instrument tuned to a specific scordatura,
not too far from standard tuning. But how many string quintets are there
out there willing to try new work in a strange tuning? The obvious answer
led me to that task of constructing my own quartet of five string bowed
zithers in order to realise the music. If you’ve developed a taste for tuning
detail, have a look at the Meta-Slendro, the scale used in
Nuilagi and the
tuning of Grady’s largest ensemble of instruments.

If there’s anything ‘classical’ about
Nuilagi I can’t find it, but the simplicity
of the counterpoint, the gentle polyphony, the passing dissonances,
certainly remind me of early medieval works for three voices, that key
period in the Western musical tradition where plainchant had recently
developed into polyphony. What we’re hearing here goes far beyond
beautiful sounds on a metallophone The beauty here doesn’t arise from
the fact of the metallophone, but is a result of the depth and range of
sheer hard work that has gone into the overall production: precisely
because of the design of the instruments, the tuning, the conceptual
rigour and the fact that they work together. Thus Just Intonation in the
21st century.

Having built and played my own instruments, using just intonation scale
systems designed by Erv Wilson and others, I’ve noticed that I never tire
of playing and listening to these tunings in the same way that I do playing
in equal temperament. I’ve also noticed how energising choral singing can
be, for others as well as myself, in particular with simple contrapuntal
music, which tends to move in an adaptive just intonation, from one justly
intoned block to the next. I believe there’s something at work here, but I
don’t quite know what it is in scientific or musical terms. It’s all very
subjective. What I do know though is that some of the more tight-arsed
tuning theorists among us will spit blood at the mere suggestion of
transcendental qualities in tuning systems. Which of course gives me all
the more reason to promote such suggestions.

The emotional impact, therefore is unique – on the one hand there’s the
way in which you are drawn in, seduced at times – you want to be a closer
part of it – yet there’s always an ‘edge’ in the dissonance, the subliminal
awareness of uneven scale steps perhaps, that keeps the mind and body
alert. Simple and complex at the same time, like nature. All in all, this
music takes me to a better place.

Several years ago I was waiting to perform a piece at an electroacoustic
concert series. Outside the venue I found myself holding forth about my
microtonal interests, my instruments and about how the idiom, if there is
such a thing, had informed my electrocoustic efforts. One fellow looked at
me oddly and declared ‘But microtonality is dead’, which put a swift end to
the conversation. To be fair, as a typical product of a Western musical
education with little understanding of non-European music I think he was
referring to that dreadful ‘square peg in a round hole’ concert music that
really does sound out of tune, which was barely tolerated by the
establishment, and which was tossed out as soon as the novelty
diminished. But nonetheless, if he is out there reading this, I invite him to
listen to the music of Kraig Grady, and thereby to evolve and grow.
(James Wyness)

(Click here to read the original version of the article.)
TEXTURA  (APRIL 2011)
On paper, Kraig Grady's latest recording, which includes two pieces, the
fifty-minute “Our Rainy Season” featuring Jim Denley (bass flute, alto
saxophone, wooden flute) and Mike Majkowski (upright bass) and the
twenty-six-minute “Nuilagi” performed by metallophone players Grady,
Erin Barnes, and Jonathan Marmor, certainly appears interesting enough.
But when heard the recording turns out to be even more captivating than
such details might suggest. For more than three decades, Grady has been
involved in the formation of ensembles that use acoustic microtonal
instruments (of his own design or modification) to explore interactions with
particular environments and psycho-acoustical pitch phenomena. For this
project, Grady treats the opening piece as “an internal reflection sifted
through memories” and the second as a presentation of music played by
the people of Anaphoria to give thanks for the rain.

It's the microtonal and pitch-related aspects of his work that emerges as a
focal point in the longer piece, which proves to be a fascinating listening
experience and holds one's attention despite its length. Denley and
Majkowski were asked to improvise on single notes with extreme pitch
accuracy (the tuning is apparently from Anaphoria and resembles a scale
derived from the village of Mavila in Mozambique). The blended tones of
the flutes are a dominant and persistent presence, but occasionally they
drop away to allow the fluttering bass tones to move out of the shadows
and into the spotlight. Just after the twenty-minute mark, Denley steps
aside, and Majkowski's notes flutter like raindrops or hail bouncing off of a
windowsill until the flute tones re-emerge, this time accompanied by
Majkowski's bowing. The two generate no small degree of thunder and
rumble during the performance and more often than not suggest a
blustery wind octet more than duo. Even so, it's the experience of
attending to the ever-so-slight gradations in tonality that, sounding on
occasion like car horns blaring in a mid-town traffic jam in Manhattan,
make the piece especially engrossing. The bright timbre of the
metallophones immediately sets “Nuilagi” apart from the first piece, with
the second conceived as a celebration of the rainy season's advance after
the dry season preceding it. Though it's difficult not to be reminded of
Reich when the metallophones play pulsating patterns, “Nuilagi,” a live
recording, nevertheless turns out to be as mesmerizing as “Our Rainy
Season,” if in slightly different manner; it certainly requires little effort on
the listener's part to hear the shimmering tones as suggestive of pitter-
pattering rain sounds. Grady here opts for somewhat of a peaceful mood
that only makes the piece more appealing.
THE WATCHFUL EAR  (APRIL 2011)
As I have written once or twice lately, I have taken to listening to CDs
recently without (at first) paying any attention at all to liner notes or press
releases. Tonight’s CD is one that, after an initial ‘blind’ play-through I
thought I had the album figured out, but then once I had read the liners I
suddenly felt quite confused…

The CD is a new release on the either/OAR offshoot of the and/OAR label
by an American composer named Kraig Grady. The disc consists of two
compositions, one named Our Rainy Season, and the other Nuilagi. I
wasn’t previously aware of Grady, and a bit of Googling around suggests
he is linked in some way to Harry Partch’s work, which makes sense
having listened to the album. So before reading the liner notes, I had this
album down as entirely composed, with a focus on tuning systems in that
way that only American academic composers seem to be able to do. I
thought of Arnold Dreyblatt for the first of the two pieces (Our Rainy
Season) and yes Partch for the second, Nuilagi which has a strong
gamelanesque feel. The first piece has a feeling of tuned drone as it
works with single notes played in different ways over longish periods of
time, the second has a more scattered, fluid feel, with a strong sense of
rainfall, which I picked up on the first time around, though maybe the title
of the first composition here may have pushed me in that direction.

On reading the liners I discovered a strange story about “the people of
Anaphoria” and the first composition here is apparently an “internal
reflection based on memories”. It uses, according to the notes “tuning
from Anaphoria” though this also “resembles a scale once found amongst
the Chopi people in the village of Mavila in Mozambique”. Hmm. Have you
ever heard of Anaphoria? Me neither, and a bit of Googling only really
brings up references to other works by Grady. The second composition,
Nuilagi, is apparently “a realisation of the very music played by the people
of Anaphoria to give thanks to the rain”. You know, I’m not going to worry
about whether the place exists or if it is some bizarre construct created by
the composer for whatever reason. I think I’ll just focus on the music.

So Our Rainy Season I rather like. It goes on quite a lot longer than I
might have ideally liked at around fifty minutes, but it features a slowly
shifting, quite dense stream of acoustic instrumental sounds that at any
one time focus on single notes, which might change as the piece
progresses, but primarily creates a constant stream of sound made up of
many earthy, breathy details. Once I had read the info on the track I was
very surprised to learn their were only two musicians involved Jim Denley
(bass flute, alto sax and wooden flute) and Mike Majkowski (upright bass)
and that while they stuck closely to a series of notes chosen by Grady for
the composition, they improvised sounds within these notes. So we hear
all kinds of instrumental techniques producing a wide range of textures,
but always at the same pitch. This reminds me of the methods used by
Bertrand Denzler on his recent solo saxophone disc. The musicianship,
given this new understanding of the score is actually very impressive, as
the duo manage to create a sound that appears much bigger and rich
than you imagine they could create.

Nuilagi is a quite different affair, a trio composition for three
metallophones, traditional gamelan instruments performed by Erin
Barnes, Jonathan Marmor and Grady himself. The piece seems to be an
aural picture of rainfall, mimicking the sounds of scattered rain, falling
hard and fast in places, and much softer, almost silently elsewhere. The
sound of these instruments massed together, streams of ringing metal
bars, is quite beautiful, but I suspect they would sound gorgeous no
matter what you attempted to play on them. Nuilagi, lasting some twenty-
five minutes actually begins to test my patience a little. The sounds are
lovely, the impersonations of rainfall well done, but once you’ve heard it,
got the idea into your head of what the music is trying to achieve, it does
little else but carry on in the same vein and at the end of the second play-
through I felt somewhat exhausted by the music and maybe a little short-
changed.

So a curious disc then. Ignoring all of the odd stuff (the three performers
of Nuilagi are listed, but their names are also described as pseudonyms
used to confuse evil spirits!) there is some carefully considered and
thought-through music here, particularly in the first of the two
compositions. Its a disc that will probably greatly interest those that find
studies of intonation and tuning interesting, and while I personally don’t,
it clearly is a work of some accomplishment in that area.
METAL JAZZ  (MAY 2011)
An Anaphorian outrigger glided up to my house the other day during a
heavy rain, and an oarsman in a puka necklace tossed me this CD
attached to a coconut. I threw him a hand mirror and a bag of
mini-Snickers, and the crew paddled off. White men always get the better
of such exchanges. Kraig Grady, a microtonal composer who explores the
exotic leafy regions between our ears, left Los Angeles for Australia three
years ago, so if a recording is the only way I can currently engage with his
music, I'll hoard it with greed. As always, it turned out to be a wonderful
trip.

"Our Rainy Season" involves the interaction of heat rising from the ground
and water falling from the sky. For 45 minutes, it drones and drips,
creating a local climate in which you can breathe. This multi-tracked
"improvisation" between Jim Denley (bass flute, alto sax, wooden flute)
and Mike Majkowski (upright bass) is improvised in that the players
weren't told when to play, just what notes to play, and Grady cut up and
arranged the notes later. In Grady's world, the blend of different
frequencies within his scales means a lot -- when the notes rub against
one another, they also rub against our ears, removing us to a place
outside standard Western harmony and urbanized experience. In a
jungle, the sound of a fly's wings must harmonize with the sound of the
wind, for instance; it can't be any other way. When we talk about
dissonance, we usually mean sounds that remind us of machines -- car
brakes, blenders, rivet guns. Those combined noises can tweak our
nerves in exciting ways, but they're not natural. Being a man of peace,
Grady tunes in to nature, and here he has walked away from his self-built
metallophones and organs to employ instruments and musicians in
fresh-air ways. To get the players focused on exactly the right pitches, he
set them up with visual aids, like a guitar tuner. The process guided them
into simplicity and concentration; the music became a meditation. You will
fall into it.

The second piece, the 26-minute "Nuilagi," took me back to Grady's
microtonal xylophone music. It was recorded live a few years ago at
"Thesm Ell" (L.A.'s bare-bones downtown club The Smell), so the creaking
footsteps here might even have been mine. The gamelan-like clonks,
plengggs and hollowing echoes, overlapping and joining, emanated a
gentle physicality and a more than stereophonic sense of motion. I
pictured the quizzical calm of tall, bushy-browed Grady, along with Erin
Barnes and Jonathan Marmor, as they wristed their mallets and drifted
between instruments across the cement floor. Old acid molecules
dislodged from my salivary glands; I felt blobs of rain chilling into icicles
as throbbing alien voices called me home. I looked at label head Dale
Lloyd's textured downpour artwork and felt quiet.
Is there such a thing as being lulled awake? Yeah, there is.