Pianist Cecil Taylor — who yesterday I might have described as “preeminent” rather than “predominant” — read his erudite, sound-sensitive poetry in the first half of his sold-out 80th birthday concert at Merkin Hall, then performed solo sonatas for approximately 50 minutes. An infant in the audience occasionally cooing along with Taylor’s precise diction made it difficult to catch every word (much less all the meaning) of his texts, filled as they were with the recondite references to biology, mathematics, Egyptian and Mayan civilization, yet some striking images and insightful thoughts emerged.
Taylor’s music at the piano, with the piano, was crystal clear. From a few measures of score he drew from a folder and propped within view but didn’t further glance at, Taylor launched improvisations of impeccable and highly nuanced touch, complicated harmony and organic, balanced structures. His phrases often began as simple gestures or a few carefully selected notes, then stretched out with the evenness of breathing into full investigations and transformations of the nascent idea. And he has many, many ideas, demonstrating the infinite ways tones can be arranged, reflected, expressed to conjure beauty in spheres that transcend “mere” music to speak of movement, architecture, strength, delicacy, suppleness and nuance. As a listener I found myself (again!) suspended between awed appreciation of his art and floods of my own internal impresssions, including insights into my fleeting thought processes.
