Poetry. African American Studies. Music. California Interest. THE FEEL TRIO is Cecil Taylor, Tony Oxley and William Parker. Or is it that THE FEEL TRIO are Cecil Taylor, Tony Oxley and William Parker? See, that's the amazing problem and chance, right there! In the wake and air and light of THE FEEL TRIO, what it bears and what propels them, which is everything in particulaPoetry. African American Studies. Music. California Interest. THE FEEL TRIO is Cecil Taylor, Tony Oxley and William Parker. Or is it that THE FEEL TRIO are Cecil Taylor, Tony Oxley and William Parker? See, that's the amazing problem and chance, right there! In the wake and air and light of THE FEEL TRIO, what it bears and what propels them, which is everything in particular, THE FEEL TRIO tries to put some things together. Alabama runs through those things like nobody's business. I kept trying to visit the uncounted space James Brown forms around the one. To celebrate the varieties of black devotion. But coalition can't be too easy; it's in our nature not to come naturally lyrically, beautifully violently. The organizing principles, in our extramusical tailor's retrofit of fitting, sharp as a tack from the tone worlds of east by southeast of Sheffield, the Bronx's compassionate project/s and fly, flaired, flared Corona: listen to everything, relax the shape, approach with love, be worthy of a lovely t!...
|Title||:||The Feel Trio|
|Number of Pages||:||104 Pages|
|Status||:||Available For Download|
|Last checked||:||21 Minutes ago!|
The Feel Trio Reviews
Fred Moten writes: I’m in a bad mood about everybody’s bad mood, their political depression, whatever. and they’re so god damn squeamish about it—they can’t even come close to saying how fucked up it is, with their anempathic numbers, but they can say that. they so attached to it but they can say that. o, say what they cannot can! to say there’s no exit from compromised ordinariness is an ordinary compromise, as if there’s more danger in the idea of flight than in staying home, as if laying back where you stay precludes flying, as if the symposium was theirs alone.
i'm going to have to be working my way through moten's other poetry now, having read almost all his essays. there's always a kind of rich melancholy ordinariness in his style, from when i've heard him read poetry, that right now makes me wonder about jose esteban munoz' never completed project on brown affect. but there's an unbearably kinetic reaching into ecstasy that bursts in the middle of a slightly receding activity. is the immanent and the far beyond within one deft lingual moment. you know i'm pretty sure the best section "come on, get it," carefully numbered like elaborations of an argument or stations in a narrative, reminds me of his response during a seminar on his paper called "just friends" a few years back, when people asked him about occupy and tiqqun. moten noted there was a weakness in their shit, if their shit is wanting the world different, and this weakness is a function of their failure to avail themselves to the archive and thought of the black radical tradition. moten's exhortation to "come get this" rings out. it's there. moten has described blackness as a refusal of closure and i wonder about the blackness in the refusal to come get it, and the sublime optimism in the injunction: "come get this." this tone dominates the movement of the language here, saturates it with unbearable beauty.
Beautiful shadow music. Riffing on horns in the Tower of Babel. Fmoten is loud and brash and black. There is nothing that is not felt between Feel Trio's pages. It keeps jumping, skatting, mutating until it becomes a bizarro nesting doll, all falling and separation one moment and then electric and enjambment the next. Inside the poetry is a chorus of voices from black humanity, and its concerns are large, gobbling up art, science, philosophy, politics and love on a crash course towards consciousness.And the breaks, are perfect, and the way he juxtaposes sounds and shapes--ugh, too good. The book is an argument for the vitality of black art that pushes out of time while asserting its primacy in every moment, so that it is a presence a feeling a way of being:"place is our new destitute imperative. place her trill inside. See if you can find a place"We are breaking apart (always), and so whole
with some audiovisual shape to us, and aerated, in the event of color,long set circle, we revel in what breaks us up. with nothing it's impossible and easier, the same but really close to one another but unbridgeably farfrom one another, the way we flee a broken park when the islandis a shipwreck and a language lab and half of school falls away. for what we live for little boy removed, upstairs, a choir down below. how to read this is double now. now,how do we read this? this is what it's for. to claim catastropheto rubble for catastrophe. to turn the world
"all that little echoed pillow with other and nested, sweets on paper, where do it come from? how could it happen? it must have been there, giving and taking the form that can't be there, now you open inside, and it's already so broke so you can get inside, song by song." if you don't consider fred moten one of the most important poets / critical writers out there, you are missing the ocean swimming right the fuck by you. it is like putting your hair smoothly through the elastic band and also like pulling it out of the elastic band / shaking it clean.
The neologisms (improvisitor, blinglish!), shifts in form, voice, tone, the code switching, intelligence and shear musicality of this book!
Perhaps I am bit too dense or obtuse, but this one escaped my inner ear entirely. I did feel as if I were reading a Charlie Parker or Mingus jazz tune at times. Me thinks I may be tone deaf to the subtleties of jazzy poetry. Mix Scatman Caruthers with William S. Burroughs and throw in a healthy dash of Charles Bukowski and you've got "The Feel Trio" and "All That Jazz." Burn, Baby, burn!
Free jazz inspired sonicisms that penetrate and provoke. Amazingly dense but meaning physically felt in reading.
Moten is the contemporary Eliot. His allusions are so thick that his verse is extremely obscure. However, the language is beautiful.
"the experiment of the ones who live to eat enormously"