I’m listening to “What Do We Do” by Bill Frisell. It’s a perfect amalgam of jazz and Americana, and the outro starting at 4:17 gives me goosebumps every time.

There’s something about instrumental music during these surreal times - whatever visceral thing I’m feeling has the freedom to sharpen and ebb.

“What Do We Do” is a gentle, evolving conversation, the poignancy in it’s understatement highlighted by the fact that every musician could one hundred percent commandeer the spotlight but chooses not to. It’s an ethos I appreciate, especially now - there’s no door to kick down, no epiphanic moment, simply engaging in the world as it is, and carving out of the inevitability something beautiful.