Tutankhamun: Art Ensemble of Chicago
Classification: Jazz
Release: 1969
Another jazz album, another stab at poetry. This might not be a tenant, but there's a strong connection between jazz and poetry. I think it has something to do with the endorphins associated with absolute freedom. Fear reduces us to staccato speech. Excitement moves us to speech fast. The push and the pull of this reaction to a world with no rules is exhilarating. Have you ever heard an exhilarated goose? The sound it produces stretches the definition of music to a breaking point, pushes it beyond the pale and leaves its carcass buried in the desert. Out of this snuffed out definition of music comes Art Ensemble of Chicago's Tutankhamun and the four poems I have written in response to listening to this album. Next to the definition of music you will find the remains of the term, "poetry". I buried it there last week.
What can I say? Impenetrable jazz gets impenetrable poetry. To collage is to recreate life as it is experienced, not as it appears. For eight hours a day, nine on this particular day I sat at a computer doing the work of a salesman. Erin & I were going golfing at 6:00 - an exciting first for us. At 5:59 a zipper tab was pulled violently by a passing wind. The clouds relieved themselves in a torrential downpour and we went home. A collage of today would rightly emphasis the one minute that defined it rather than the nine that constituted its majority. I say it again, to collage is to recreate life as it is experienced, not as it is.
Confession is good for the soul. I confess that I am a bit of a history nerd. I purchased this album because I am going through a bit of a jazz phase and I liked the cover. Confession is good for the soul. I confess that I really struggled with this album. In fact, while the album was playing I walked into the other room where Erin was - behind a closed door. Her look told me all I needed to know about her take on Art Ensemble of Chicago's definition of poetry. Incredibly, it sounded better and more like music from behind the heavy wooden doors. I also bought the album because of the track lengths. The titular song clocks in at an astounding 18:10. It makes the 15:35 The Ninth Room seem mercifully short. The Ninth Room is easily the best song and my worst poem.
Because I am not a sadist, I have included a digital collage I made while relistening to the record, twice. Once from behind the heavy wooden doors. Once at 45 rpms instead of the suggested 33. The heavy doors improved the experience; the other, did not. Because I want you to read these admittedly terrible poems, I have placed the picture at the bottom of this page. This is a digital version of ears of corn on the side of the road with a box for you to throw money into. On your honor, read the poems. Then look at the collage. (You'll notice that my poetry suffers for being too literal in its response to the album. It would appear that literalism is becoming a threat.)
Tutankhamun
tasked to put words to music:
who tasked?
tell me,
tell me.
i'll kill em...
cacophony. caw caw. cacophonous. caw.
caw. ?
sounds. toot. toot. ?
who tasked?
tell me,
tell me.
i'd like a word...
thinitthedalen part one
i couldn't do it.
kill-kill him,
i mean.
The Ninth Room
geesesgoosesgoslingoose
groove/ya dig?
quackedquackquackery
groove/ya dig?
you want impenetrable? i'll give it to you.
impentrabley igpe atinlay
groove/ya dig?
impentrabley?
impossible/impassable/impassabley
[read lei]
impenetrable impervious imperil
improv imperdimproved impassabley
[red. lay]
impenetrable jazz gets impenetrable poetry
we are divided/divisible
groove/ya dig?
cant even agree to disagree
groove/ya dig?
quackedquackquackery
ya dig?
geesesgoosesgoslingoose
groove.
thinitthedalen part two
rush to the volume knob:
what's wrong with the bumble bees?
nada
nada
nada
the geeses fly south
fed up with the bees
nada
nada
