Bob Wiseman

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At the natural foods store, I noticed, high on the wall an 8×10 photograph. It hung there like a family portrait. The name beneath it read Pegger’s Banquet. I laughed, […]

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What I loved most about the Gimli shows wasn’t just the playing. It was the odd, shining bits around the edges. Like the woman behind the bar who told me, […]

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Threw my back out, didn’t I. Must’ve been the way I slept, or didn’t. Felt like getting shot in the back by a dream, that kind of pain that makes […]

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Long ago, in a wind-washed city by the river of Mook, there lived a musician named Everulska. He played both the silver flute and the hollow drum. In the marketplace […]

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I set myself to the ordering of two pieces from many years ago. They are founded upon the ostinato, and too often I left their progress to chance. Useful once […]

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I was among the many who loved Dianne Keaton. Everyone seemed to have a favorite version of her. The smile, the hats, the wit. I kept thinking about Looking for […]

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Old fusion albums. Listening back, a lot to learn there. Sometimes it’s just meandering, people testing the edges while forgetting about the center. At other times, it’s greatness. Risk becomes […]

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At a party two weeks ago, I heard an American in his eighties, a retired teacher talk about murder. A moment earlier the conversation was about food, about school, ordinary […]