Rarely is anything spoken. So much has already passed between us.
Unfinished sentences litter preparation. Words discarded; unnecessary, inadequate. Ideas agreed upon, seemingly before they even exist between us; unspoken, soundless, clearly heard. The Accompanist is entwined; sinew and spirit, around me; my accompanist, my companion, our song.
Fingers quiver above the keys. They are already accompanying the chords not yet engaged, not yet struck. I breathe. The Accompanist has taken and already given. My breath is filled warm with the resound of fingers gracing keys, giving life to ink and page- giving life to me.
This is a bizarre act of engagement. The entwined sense and sound goes back and forth between us. The inspiration from one to the other has no obvious initiator, just unity of purpose. The chaos of other possibilities and other choices, were not heard, before this moment.
The Accompanist like no other, from this “chaos” structures the outcome, responding to the split second, half known, half new. Moment after musical moment lands, precisely and sometimes imperfectly, joyously, not so. Our “imperfection” separates the digital from the organic; dividing this live performance from the (troubling) rewind of recorded, heart-less perfection.
The Accompanist and I exist together, perfectly inside the heart of our song. I know why this happens… God only knows how. Grateful, grateful.