I could listen to Julia Kent all day. And I very often do just that. Did I ever tell the story of the day I came home from class to find that my then-boyfriend-now-husband had bought me a cello? Did I ever tell the story of how I tried to learn and then, like so many instruments littering my past, it too fell by the wayside? It's embarrassing, the amount of love I harbor for the cello, and I still want to learn, even though I cannot seem to learn languages (foreign, musical, all of them) well. Need to. But for now, I still soak up cello artists like air. Late fall, sultry, sad air, that's what the cello is. Deep and dark and echoing. Some souls must sound like cellos.
Then there's Zoë Keating.
And then Emily Jane White.
If cello music were art, it might look something like this, I imagine...
|Scatterlings of Bill|
Good reading goes with good listening, so, some books that match the cello-feel (for me):
A Death in the Family (Hook: "We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville, Tennessee, in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.") + Never Let Me Go
And speaking of the end of summer (how is today the last day already?)... "Last Day of July" is an EP "inspired by the end of summer":