CHAPTER DEE—THEMES 3, 11

We play until death comes to fetch us.

—Kurt Schwitters, Letter to Christof Spengemann, 1946

February 14th, 2017

Anchor House of Artists

Northampton, Massachusetts

Sparkling kaleidoscopic swirls, projected from Youtube onto our portable movie screen, morph, burst and implode. We’ve muted the robotic text-to-synth Ur Sonata soundtrack because nine Urchestra members provide live accompaniment for Pronoblem’s abstract animation. It’s our first time together since Bailey’s memorial.

“Rakete rinnzekete, rakete rinnzekete, rakete rinnzekete, rakete rinnzekete, rakete rinnzekete, rakete rinnzekete,” sing Rebecca and Jenny, as I riff on flute, before stopping to point out, “Beeeee bö.”

Borrowed motorcycle, curving gravel road. September eleventh, Pronoblem died.

His son Miles is sitting in on guitar. John Landino’s neighbor Jack Nelson contributes double bass, Landino himself is playing trumpet, Eric Blitz is on percussion, DJ Glove’s on sander, tape-measure, and guitar. Bob Wilson brought homemade synths.

Psychopomps of Merz.

Today is Pronoblem’s birthday, and the city of Holyoke has officially designated it James Bickford Day. Maybe some city councilors are privately glad Pronoblem isn’t going to annoy them anymore—but at least they’ve honored his love for Holyoke.

We’re stomping and shouting, “Bumm bimbimm, bamm bimbimm, Bumm bimbimm, bamm bimbimm, Bumm bimbimm, bamm bimbimm, Bumm bimbimm, bamm bimbimm, Bemm, bemm, Bemm, bemm, Bemm, bemm, Bemm, bemm.”

For us to play, does one of us have to die?