Respiration

Young Cecil on a tear, playing solo in Warsaw, October 1968. As Stuart Broomer writes in the notes, it was a “strange and revolutionary moment,” which was “at once collective and individual, a liberation of collective possibility and individual genius.” I’m not sure I ever thought about Cecil as a representative for May ‘68, but there are few who wear that robe so well. Taylor plays in two chunks, one thirteen minus, one thirty. The figures and clusters fall heavy but nimbly, with a concentrated storm up in the higher register. It’s the friendliest storm of bees ever, just circling my head as I bop around the living room.