Dave Soldier

Composer

I'm in a kitchen listening to '70s college radio. It's raining and dreary until the R&B DJ takes over. Between Isaac Hayes and Minnie Riperton comes the sound of a backwoods guitar interrupted by village sounds of bongos, like a Folkways field recording from Nigeria, but blaring and stinging, not the sweet sounds of the African drum choir. Then, amazingly, melodies like Coltrane's emerge, arranged for trombones, trumpets, and baritone sax. A clear tenor voice sails above it all in longing and pain. The horns lines evolve into dense strands, yet in phrases firm and clear, composed with a liberty that seemed to say in music, anything that can be imagined is possible.

There is a deceptively decorous start for a piano solo that sounds like McCoy Tyner but more thunderous and emotionally unstable. As the piano chords smash, the clouds break. The sun streams through the kitchen window as a chorus chants mis la vida, mi preciosa, transforming the woods where I am near Ashford to a Henri Rousseau vision of rural Caribs trapped in the city, rebelling with their own version of the blues. More and more complex, this was a music I had imagined could exist from listening to Bach and watching trapped-looking Latin mill workers in Willimantic.

The DJ announces we heard Eddie Palmieri playing “Puerto Rico,” with Ismael Quintana singing and arrangements by Barry Rogers. That day, I resolved to be a composer and try to resurrect that sudden warm sun breaking through the window.