I think the meaning of this piece and all of our music depends when and where and by whom it is being listened.
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I’ve learned from music to feel something in your gut. Then you know what’s what.
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The story is the same always: one of you leaves first & you both know who it’s going to be.
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The work you sent us this reading period was saxophone & city skyline, was blue-lit & dancing, was storm-filled & warm.
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The music jumps, cuts, flourishes in a way I don’t attempt to map out, recognizing the particular logic of feel.
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Cadenza seizes our attention, rockets us skyward like childhood swings. We grip its chains and fly.
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The music we've been playing through record-scratch mornings & drunk-dancing nights, a selection for Issue V...
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The only way left for the world to spin is forward. We hope you come with us—but if even if you don’t, we’re going still.
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Cities are places of jazz—where it was born, where it has changed, and where it thrives.
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The magic that defines cadenza through all this smoke, keeps Half Mystic dancing & breathing & cacophonous & alive.
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