roamin

Stephen Bradley & John Sturgeon audio CD

with booklet, photographs and 3 sound art works

In the Neighborhood 3:47 mins., ©Bradley/Sturgeon 2017

Ghost 4:25 mins., ©Bradley/Sturgeon 2017

Tucumcari 2:53., ©Bradley/Sturgeon 2017

Stephen Bradley and John Sturgeon have collaborated in creating sound art works, as well as streaming events and performances both nationally and internationally for over 23 years. A mutual interest in the spatial aspects of sound, the communal power of storytelling and a history of creating unique sonic environments within a historical context - inform both the content and structure of their works.

The artists met for a – jam session - at Sturgeon’s studio in early 2017. The serendipity of those recording sessions led to three new sound art pieces. Bradley’s innovative instrumentation and sound mixes coupled with Sturgeon’s poetic text and vocals are enhanced by their featured cover-art photography form the CD collection entitled: roamin ©2017.

Stephen Bradley/John Sturgeon

sound & poetic works

Sound Art - work statements:

In the Neighborhood

A subtly urgent tom-tom beat underscores an evolving narrative beginning with a plaintive sense of coming late to change, or fear of some essential part of Self is - lost at sea, through a growing awareness that forms the impetus for seeking the unknowns that lie ahead. The conciseness of vocals and spiraling acoustics combine, implying clear resolve for self-knowledge that surges forth with exuberant buzz.

In the Neighborhood

As I was arriving…

I thought: this is how long it took to get here.

I mean there were so many thoughts before,

that finally led to this action

Forks in the road -

with all those structures built before.

So, why couldn’t I have been here earlier?

Made the critical decisions quicker -

Or, simply stepped forward.

There is a song the sailor sings

when he’s lost at sea

and can’t find – me.

Rarely will the buzz differentiate

amid our crowded places.

In departing those conversations

that subtly shift

or snap -

Startles this solitary space.

When our old fallen sailor stumbles on – without sea legs

Dragging along the agendas and debates:

- who should have done this?

- how could this have been?

The Germans call it - die Grenze.

That space or zone at the edge

The boundary between this and that -

high and low,

which overtime shifts -

Even its imaginary dimensions

to become - mythic.

Roots poke curious fingers

into all our sticky stuff

and wills migration -

My sudden body of bees

swarms forth -

All the hair on end -

Our hive is in motion.

text: j. sturgeon 2017

Ghost

A delicate, subtly soulful sax provides agency for a voyage that undulates between cosmic perspective and the ephemeral nature of our personal fate. The wandering cinematic tones of densely layered sound and observational text seek solace in a call to join together in lonely places and seek hope in the sober embrace of our place in the continuum.

Ghost

The vast and formless medium swells and contracts –

An ancient tether to the vortex tugs with subtle magnetism.

Time traces the locus of its hub obliquely

amid a violent string of pearls.

Unknowable humanness heaves forth a flow -

Dark with blood and promises foamy white.

What we are –- is –- then surges on,

lost upon all the lastly disappearing - us.

The soul’s current lashes each fate one to each other,

devoured by the same selfless sex of effervescent molecules.

Glorious towers built to spike the very girth of heaven –

dull and cripple without trust.

Brittle hands stack endless equations spin out their last bleak cry for

warmth.

Even then and for there, embrace this flickering clarity -

Come - join tight the circle brought close in lonely places.

The discreet soundings of names,

mother’s voice coming in from the rain

The images of things catalogued from the pain.

All pass with fading flesh -

Even those marble chiseled few… All –

Wrapped with disappearance,

all gone in ash to a heedless wind

the dust for those never-knowns.

Resistance has nothing left to the shell

The bulwark that secures the heart from the ultimate

is gone -

Everything taken,

Absorbed,

Sucked out dispassionately

and with infinite hunger.

text: j. sturgeon 2017

Tucumcari

Traversing the blacktop-laced American West evokes touchstones of empathy through roadside observation of forgettable travel stops and lives riveted to places often just passed through and forgotten. There is an intimacy of sound and word that resonates with authenticity, acrimonious pathos and yet a sense of joy in our shared humanity.

Tucumcari

Hard folk

out-here, beyond the Texas line -

Sitting at a coffee counter truck stop in Tucumcari

Carved - wind-torn, burnt faces – jaws fixed

indistinguishable - at last - from the landscape

Hard life waitress, pre-dawn shift -

Balancing a world of plates with two-end jobs

Hard load truckers

Eyes squint into the effortless - eying sun -

Years of searing headlights

curve along the scar-fine strip of blacktop -

crossing the day’s escarpment without decision

Hard, long-forgotten cowboys -

Gone to herding rigs for the pipeline,

beneath their dusty pickup beds

covers a vulnerability waiting:

Waiting for Jesus,

Waiting for the shift to end – waiting…

Waiting for the naming at last to cease

or finally,

the Pecos to flow

Windblown Ansel Adams graveyard snapshot passing by -

The young evening streetlight crisp moonrise

The hustle-bustle of two young girls serving smiles for tips at the fish-fry

their thoughts all a twirl for high school ballers

an offer of a Friday night –

Thank You, Mam

text: j. sturgeon 2017