Page 33 - Jazz

to fit into a little square. A face cupped in the hands and gazing outwards, which means that it is to be found in a
miniature open window in an interminable row of little bluey-grey circles, constant and cold and turned off. But I
sit here unseen and wait for the leaves in the grains of green tea to unfold, so that I can pour the first cup of tea of
a long morning whose peace will be interrupted only by the sound of my fingers pressing and lightly tapping the
keys, the monotonous fluttering of the ventilator and the tinkling of the hot , tawny-yellow liquid as a new cup of
tea is poured.
Nor do I think I could say anything about Vijay Iyer beyond what I have found on allmusic, and it would
be ridiculous for me to try to do so. I recall that here he is accompanied on the alto saxophone by an alter ego
by the name of Rudresh Mahanthappa, and this strikes me as having an empty resonance with the name of a
photographer friend in London, Suresh Karadia, a really nice person with whom I have never communicated on
Mess and to whom I would like to send an emoticon invented by me, only that in fact it will certainly remain…
uninvented. Which however I would not venture to do if the opportunity arose to write to Vijay Iyer who is at this
moment more than a friend, is actually the person who can touch the keys of my inner piano with a huge, gentle
irony and send me into a trance to repeat after him :“Today…I’m All Smiles ”.

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