with Dan Plonsey

A yearish ago, Dan Plonsey led a bunch of us down a literal path of outdoor music making, which featured all those late summer things: the raking light through a coastal arbor, the small of dust and manzanita, the late silver-green of foliage, and the percolating sound of a creek under a flanking green.

As creative new music marches go, this was a pretty good one, but not as good (and what can be?) as the march we did as Daniel Popsicle in Santa Cruz, in which the keyboardist laid down on the trail and started to roll down the hill to the stage as part of her march. That march was not as good (and what can be?) as the rehearsal where Dan tried to teach us to march. Our lack of marching skills was so complete, so outstanding, that we died laughing and were immediately brought back to life, so we could continue on in the world for you to apprehend.

Back to that yearish ago day. Our march arrived at a frog pond, tiny, reed and lily-filled, apparently beloved. We made a racket, then wandered back up in ones and twos, cursing the incline.

The frog pond stuck in my head, not only because I felt I had to come back and apologize to it for the surprise experimental improv (I did). I periodically encouraged Dan to write something specific for it, and he may have.

Come find out. I’ll be in a duet with him (or perhaps joining him in a large ensemble of pre-existing sounds) on tuned wood.