I was walking to work this morning, Treepeople doing "Bigmouth Strikes Again" on my headphones, when the beautifully skronky sound of alto sax burst in from outside. Those metallic notes somehow fit right in with Doug Martsch doing Morissey, and it sort of spun my head around. I saw the guy on the corner, older and black, sax case opened to catch change, just getting into it. His body swayed like he was dancing those notes out of himself and I smiled so damned hard.
How many John Coltrane's are playing on city corners? How many Van Gogh's using spray cans? How many DeNiro's are pacing in their kitchens, doing monologues to their appliances? How many Henry Miller's writing letters that never get sent?
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