an old writer and his words

  • THE CLUB

    It’s jazz, it’s a club,but there what once wasis no more, there areno ashtrays on the table,overflowing early intothe second set, no cloudof cigarette smoke descendingfrom the too dark ceiling.There is no recognizable odorof a freshly lit Gaulloise,in the trembling fingers ofa young man trying to look cool,trying not to cough on eachinhalation, in the…

    Lou Faber

  • KEYS

    He sits, suited in black, with 88 keys at his command, and we fall silent. He opens the lock of joy, the lock of sadness, the lock of elation, the lock of tears, the lock of laughter, the lock of darkness, the lock of light, the lock of surprise, the lock of compassion, the lock…

    Lou Faber

  • EARLY NIGHT AT THE CLUB

    It begins lowly quietly, then grows builds until, all players together, it hits a point where you hope it is a crescendo, but it still grows ever louder and you retreat from the club, half-finished glass of wine on the table, knowing that when you reach the back door your evening is over.

    Lou Faber

  • DHARMA GATE

    He sits, suited in black, with 88 keys at his command, and we fall silent. He opens the lock of joy, the lock of sadness, the lock of elation, the lock of tears, the lock of laughter, the lock of darkness, the lock of light, the lock of surprise, the lock of compassion, the lock…

    Lou Faber

  • CHARLAP

    Bill places his fingers on the keyboard, nods to the drummer and bassist. God waves his hands, demands heavenly silence and unsurprisingly to you, no one argues the point. Even Evans, sitting at God’s feet, smiles and says “it’s so nice to know our legacy is safe,” and turning to Blakey, adds “Ain’t that so…

    Lou Faber

  • GOING

    Mingus             twisting  roiling                 blood of streets        child’s cry                         laughter of old men             s              w…

    Lou Faber

  • THE TRIO

    The big man caresses the bass and the strings pour out caramel and cocoa. Ulysses strokes the skins which sing the melody and mind the rhythm. The keys of the Steinway whisper to him play me, play me and even the 89th key finally joins in the song.

    Lou Faber

  • GALLERY (IN) CONCERT

    Kandinsky, Braque, Matisse and Degas all stand patiently in the hall wondering if anyone, this night, will notice them as they always seem to do, while Motherwell and Pollack lurk around the corner, feigning indifference, dreading being ignored. The sound check is long ago complete and the three men sit in the cafe lost in…

    Lou Faber

  • EUTERPEAN EVENING

    An evening: spring retreating in the face of summer, two garnacha, a piano, standup bass, drums, her voice lifts the weight of the sky and we float up on a melody, unchained. In heaven George and Ira smile and we, here, smile with them.

    Lou Faber

  • MILES FROM HERE

    Some say Miles said it’s the space between the notes – that’s where the music is. We heard him, we smiled, we anticipated the next note and the next. Outside my window a blue jay recites his morning prayer, the child’s laugh breaks the frozen sky and shivers the maple. Then all is silence –…

    Lou Faber