Sharp dressed, reality falls flat
I think, as I listen to myself play, that the ratio is something like: 10% brilliant use of outsider technique to push the piano into strange regions of post-rock neo-classical expression the likes of which no one has ever heard —
to about 90% utterly predictable, scale exploiting formulaic improvisational garbage.
If I could ever capture that 10%, I’d really have something. But so much more to the point — I think if I ever find someone who can actually stand to listen to the latter 90%, night after drunken night — she’s probably the one I’ve been waiting for.
