by Fabrice Bourgelle

The Jester (before)

As I told Matt Panesh yesterday, it’s true — we can’t do everything, but at least we can do anything.

Since last I offered a semi-hinged comment on my childish existence, here in this column, over two months ago, a number of things have been shifting, for me, and my own attempts at conveying any of the absurd and humbling wonder I find in it all seemed paltry and superbly embarrassing.

Do not ask me, why I’m once again prepared to offer comment.

A Jester is one who imparts wisdom or folly. A deliverer of grave news or slapstick. One who is regarded as an imbecile, and is utterly subservient and derided, yet strangely gifted and privileged.

I leave for Bristol tomorrow where I will spend a week recording new material with a large group of fine accompanists. The work will be the voice of some who ordinarily serve beneath a performer. It will be made using reckless methods, and will embrace chance, spirit and creativity. It will be playful, somber, lilting and raucous. And things I don’t know yet. It will be foolish, and solemn, and in spite of the world, quite human. It will be called, The Jester.

At the end of the week, I will write again, with a report on the nature of the coming to being of the thing.

Welcome to 2013, one and all, and bless your souls. The time will be special.

The project is shared with pianist and co-composer Daniel Inzani, of Count Bobo and the Bullion, Bert Miller and the Animal Folk and The Mandibles.
The horns, strings, choral and percussion group consists of noted others, whom I’ll mention in next week’s installment.