Source: The Washington Post.
On a recent Friday afternoon in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, surrounded by golden-leaved trees and numerous recreational sporting matches, a cluster of experimental musicians were gathered in a field to make improvised noise.
At this ad hoc park gig attended by about 30-odd New Yorkers, the stage was a checkered blanket. There was something disarming about this new variable, wondering whether a performer of such deep music might get bopped in the head by a flying soccer ball from a children’s scrimmage nearby.
The guitarist and songwriter Wendy Eisenberg was third on the bill, performing in between a loud violinist and a free jazz trio.
