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Moving About, Humming,
Still Our Flowers are Blooming,
Under the Old Portcullis
CD Release, Press Release
Dan Plonsey
04/04/04
Keywords: El Cerrito music of, El Cerritan
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I began to refer to my music as "Music of El Cerrito"
around 5 years ago because the categories of jazz and new music seemed
constrictive, pale, and unappealing. As a "Music of El
Cerrito," my music doesn't have to answer to anyone's
idea of what jazz, the avant garde, or any other genre
"ought" to be. Also, I wanted to respond to
the relentless plundering of the world for ever more exotic sounds from ever
more "unusual" places, which (much as I'm
a sucker for music from the new 3-or-4
B's (Bali, Brazil, Burma, Burundi), etc., like
all the other KPFA listeners in the Bay Area) really bugs me,
both for the imperialism of it all, and for the issue of: "why
don't people realize that all this music is local to the
people who actually make it -- not exotic at all -- and why,
given that, don't all these avid consumers of distant music
look in their own backyards for the music of El Cerrito?" And
then I also had a fantasy that my music would be shelved in
the World Music sections of music stores -- why not profit by hopping
on the bandwagon? Anthony Braxton keeps saying that we'll make
billions -- but then he laughs maniacally.
I think music should be about something. My latest release, "Moving
about, Humming, Still Our Flowers Are Blooming, Under the Old
Portcullis," (UNlimited Sedition, April, 2004) is about the
relationship between the kingdoms of plants and animals. Some part of our
consciousness comes down to us from our animal ancestors, and some goes
way back to plant-hood. This hour-long piece attempts
to trace consciousness through its billion-year history (more poetically than
scientifically), using as tools: 1) an hour-long melody
which runs straight through the piece, and 2) imagery reflected in
the title: the metaphoric storming of Kafka's castle (which
can't be entered by K, regardless of (because of?) the
strength of his desire) by plants, through the process of blooming
right in under the old portcullis.
