stew sez

A critic once said that while listening to Coltrane he heard his mother’s voice. When i listen to Monk I hear my mother washing dishes while talking to the next door neighbor thru the kitchen window, i hear rain pop-locking on a yellow 2nd grade raincoat at the corner of Venice & La Brea, i hear my father rustling thru his change pocket to give me a handful of quarters, i hear my sister snapping her fingers to stevie wonder, Monk’s music sounds like somebody’s old uncle dancing on beat up linoleum in a waiting room filled with kids laughing…like a picnic accompanied by a ride cymbal…his music sounds like you running for the telephone and tripping and then cursing and then laughing… sometimes life is a long beautiful melodic line and sometimes you drop a fork at a quiet restaurant…its all there (especially the children laughing)… in that music.