Slept very poorly – up around 3, watched another tepid SNL and, for some reason, an entire 90 min. BBC documentary about Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. Went out at 7:30 and worked on email – mainly from Brian Macpherson about Doormat/n Music, whom I had a deal with 20 years ago, suddenly showing up claiming to own the publishing on a bunch of NPB/solo songs from that period. There are still a few emails from this summer hanging around – I seem to have some block against getting the inbox below 25. Came back 9:30, took to bed, fell asleep to episodes of Open Source podcast, up for good about 12:45. This is not a pattern I want to get into. Called dad. Left for East Harlem around 4, some Brossard on train. Spent an hr or so a coffee place I’d looked up on 109th, wrote daybook poem, and tried to draft part of the last graf of the current section of my intro (longhand in an unwieldy notebook I’m doggedly committed to making use of; I left too late to make taking the laptop seem worth it). Walked to El Taller Latino Americano, a language school/arts space/community center for a “Race and Resistance” festival/show, also billed as an un-Columbus day event. I saw Craig Taborn, Tomeka Reid, and Ches Smith finishing their soundcheck, then waited around for a while; finished the Brossard.* Late start, really flaky intro, and then an interminable set by a tenor/viola/drums trio let by L. Mixashawn Rozie. He’s a talented, energetic player, the drummer had moments (but also miscues), and the strings were not adding much; but the whole thing seemed under-rehearsed, undifferentiated (despite stabs at “Purple Haze” and “Well You Needn’t,” and undynamic. I was either in a bad mood, or they put me in one. I left at the break, after 9, w/ Quincy Troupe, of whom I’m not a fan anyway, setting up to read w/ a guitarist. So I missed Taborn and Cooper-Moore, which is what I’d come for, but I just couldn’t hang. Read a good chunk of that recent issue of Prelude – frontloaded with some similar sounding (I assume by the editors’ intention) millennials, through a long, short-lined but baggy John Yau poem. Home by 10, put a couple of Schubert quartets (#s 10 and 14) on my phone, lights out by midnight.