By Cecil Yancy
We often give so much attention to the particulars of making and producing good music that we sometimes forget about the atmosphere that fosters the best work. For me, it’s as about as far as an A is from a G on the scale of life.
At least one day of the week I look for something to do that involves fresh air, walking, plenty of green Grass or an event where I can take in beauty: Going to a play, going on a picnic, attending an opera, going to the river or visiting a park. There are at least 116 parks in Memphis, Tenn. I haven’t been to all them, but I’ve sampled enough to know their residents.
Some of the trees are so big the hands of two men couldn’t join around them, but small enough to sit under Azaleas and daffodils have already come and gone, but are being replaced everyday with the blooms of new flowers. The warm, cool breeze of spring is gently transporting dogwood blossoms from the trees to the Ground just as Easter is rising.
The grass is starting to get green. Dandelions have already flowered and I’ve already broken off several from the ground and blown their seeds to the wind, just like I did when I was a kid.
I’m laying under one of those big trees right now and looking up through the giant limbs. I see a woodpecker. He’s playing percussion and the notes he’s pecking are falling on me. I’m hearing several beats that would work for my hip hop artist friends.
On the tree next door, I hear a mockingbird. He’s a genre-bending bird. He picks up everything. He’s Americana to me.
Right now, I’m hearing at least nine different tunes. They’re free for the taking and listening. Today, they’ve refreshed my mind.
Just as a I’m laying on the grass underneath that big ole tree I spoke about, I see the sun going down like it’s being lowered from a hayloft of a barn to the ground. With the sun at the top of the tree, I look up and see notes falling out the sky. I’m not kidding. They’re literally falling out of the sky.
