Pat Metheny: Bright Size Life

One more record that was bequeathed to me by those "getting shot" of their vinyl. This is another one from Steve. In fact, in this case, Steve even advised me which album to take, a bit like a home owner telling a burglar, "No, that sculpture is actually much more valuable than the TV set it's resting on — I'd take that if I were you." Unlike the last bequest to feature here, this record was clearly well loved (sleeve is mint, and record is unmarked) and also well played (there are crackles from wear and tear).

I needed the advice, though. I'm reading Richard Williams' The Blue Moment at the, errr, moment. Fascinating stuff, but it's making me wince at the memory of how clueless and shallow so many of my postings about jazz albums have been.

The Boy's appreciation of this album is probably about as sophisticated as mine. "It's not Blondie," he pointed out to me, yesterday evening. You're not wrong, son. "What' that?" he asks at the beginning of each track. As I don't know the track titles — I've only listened about three times — I just answer "Pat Metheny" each time. "Bye, bye, Pat Th'leaney," he says as I carry him to his bedroom.

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Comments

[Fred Stagg]

As one who considers himself a reasonably seasoned jazz fan, I have come to the conclusion that appreciation and understanding don't have to share the same bed. I could easily chat up the virtues of Esbjorn Svensson or Miles Davis to anyone willing to listen. Chick Chorea or Sun Ra on the other hand.... The point is, I like what I like. Yes, I an a melody junkie and certain avant garde bits will always elude me. But sometimes it's just a certain ring of Metheny's guitar or Dave Weckl's slightly indulgent intro and pow, sonic heaven.