Shanghai
for a day, Shanghai for a night, one more day and then, it’s back to the
airport. Plane trees if full
bloom, the trees have grown as far as they’ll grow this year before the winter
arrests their growth. It rained
all night and it rained all day.
I’d like to say it left the city looking refreshed and the sky clear but
things still look dusty. The sky
still looks hazy, heavy.
Typically left the departure for the airport to the very last
minute. I hope they don’t ding me
if I’m late. I’ll be cutting it
rather close, again. As it is, the
traffic needs to be excellent and it is quickly approaching rush hour. Soon the traffic will be maddening and
I won’t make my plane. If that’s
what transpires, that’s what will transpire. I just communicated the timing requirements to my
driver. He confirmed we won’t make
it. 狗屎不厚[1]. Well,
let’s see. More than likely the
plane will be delayed because of this morning’s rain, having been unable to
make up time for its early morning late departure and arrival from wherever to
wherever before it is due in Shanghai.
Looking at the sun setting now.
It is enormous, behind the clouds.
I had thought about taking the subway out. That would have been grand. But I wouldn’t have been able to sit
and write. Now I can do so and fret
about the traffic. There is the
promise that up ahead, somewhere, it will open up and we will accelerate, but
who knows? At every point on
this highway where traffic enters, things slow down like something thick and
clotted entering the blood stream.
My driver is speaking Shanghai Hua, fast and furious on the phone. Every word sounds like a
provocation. Lou hou ting eh!
I’ve quite a few balls in the air and I managed to give
three or four a toss while I was in town. But when I travel the exercise ball, tends to smack down, on
the ground. The timely response to
emails’ ball is also off dribbling in the corner unattended to. Meditation? A bit. A
toss. And here, you see, I am most
assuredly writing.
Last night I tried to pack too many people in. Dinner on the Bund started late. The subsequent rendez vous at eight was delayed and then delayed again. “Ah yes, it is raining. It’s raining hard. Yes. Unlikely to make it now.” The third rendez vous at nine was then pushed back to a rainy
nine-thirty. Well met and walking
by nine-forty-five we began to realize that just about every possible
restaurant we might want to eat at in the French Concession was already
closed. My. Well. How the Paris of the Orient has calmed
itself down in this new era.
Finally we found a joint that was an appropriately absurd mélange which I
would never have chosen otherwise but at 10:00PM, and hungry the Beatles,
Yakatori-themed restaurant was just fine. "Why hello there Ringo.” And a mix that bounces from “Love Me
Do,” to “Old Brown Shoe” with no consideration for chronology.
Now I’m at the Hong Qiao departure lounge, tossing back a
double espresso. I made it after
all with time to spare. The
traffic cleared up and we sped over very swiftly after some grinding traffic at
the outset. I wished my Shanghainese driver and his family a very happy Mid
Autumn Festival and ducked out.
Now, two people are off to my left discussing a deal. A man and a woman, one associated with
Hewlett Packard from what I can discern and the other a vendor. The guy is pressing hard. The woman is no fool. I however am off for the night.
My phone is loaded up with all the music I’ve written about
this year and there are quite a few other items, as yet unheard. Honestly I can’t remember if I’ve heard
William Parker before. There is a
driving mix, with a confident tenor sax, and spacious rhythm section. He must be a bass player. This bass is thumping, loud on the mix,
with ample time to solo. On line
in the lounge, I can confirm as much.
And the time that would have been spent confirming this and that is
pleasantly consumed by an unexpected encounter with an old friend, who’s also
killing time here, heading south, while I’m heading north.
Born in the Bronx in1952, William Parker’s thumping is
almost strong enough to take my sleepy mind off the guy in front of me who has
reclined his economy seat into my face.
“And William Danced” was recorded in Stockholm in 2002. This tune “The Undertaker’s Dance” is
swinging, aggressively. The sax
player turns out to be Anders Gahnold who is billed as a “local” saxophonist
but he is shedding with the greatest maturity. Hamid Drake’s fills are tight,
and punchy and beneath it all Parker is dancing as suggested. So are my knees in this seat in front
of me.
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