Steven- that IS the chord! I did try that- it's the intuitive alternative but on my guitars, it doesn't get there- though my 6120 came close if I grazed the Bigsby to goose the cluster. That high on the neck for me, the next three strings just don't cross over to the place Adam got; that fingering doesn't ring and resonate like the transcription. Sorry, D-mod, I didn't respond directly to your question and it is a very good one. I think it IS what Adam Rogers is playing, Dan Begelman is that good. I could ask him but I'd rather ask Adam :) Can we do that? Steven- perhaps string gauges/guitars matter. If you can get that otherworldly sound with the easier stretch, please tell me how you are getting it! Aside from that, I am compelled to pile on the "holy fuck" (vis a vis Donald, according to the bootleg, hearing the raw spontaneous solo to Your Gold Teeth II) for Adam. Holy Fuck. I submit that what he plays (for me, it's still in the present tense) in the song's finale is a musical metaphor for a hang glider guy gracefully "surfing the wind" on the descent that certainly doesn't feel like it's about to go very very wrong. Walter is already mourning his friend as it goes down, down, down- though, his friend doesn't know it yet. Why should he? He's in the zone. Then, listen carefully to the synth just after the monks become more conspicuous; it's a washover cascade going very suddenly (vs the mesmerizing feeling of gliding above in the airy realm) ...down. You could miss it. Listen! It's there. Not accidental! Metaphor music. I rest my case. wait! The fact that the recorded monks were in already G perhaps was serendipity- but, let's hope that by now, dear Walter knows if this was serendipity or a profound nod from the cosmic wow. My soul wants to believe it was the latter. Let's not slight Fima and Ben. Holy Fuck! This sublimely minimalist recording (with heavy processing sauce) is a synchronicity of the right musicians converging at the right place and time for a soul soaring/wrenching experience... for dear Walter. Sorry. I got a little misty. Here's propers to Fima and Ben. Holy Fuck.

@Dan Belcher Dan, the transcription comes with an advisory: "warning- continuous playing leads to continuous playing" and so I highly recommend something short-scaled. Lookit- a great reason to go get another guitar! The "Aja Duo-Sonic" up for auction would be swell (I suspect the iconic thang will go for much more than the estimated range) but there are more practical choices that are just good clean fun. String spacing was a big factor for my 65 yr old hands; the cheapo Guitar Center re-issues (Mustang, Jag, Duo-S) will do the trick if you can adapt to a 1.650" nut. I could not and, being seriously affected, found myself incrementally more willing to make a few quantum leap$ to this wider issue: https://reverb.com/p/fender-american-pro-series-jaguar this unit took me from "stretch and/or cry" to something I would be proud to play on stage (depending on the fucking drummer).

guitarists will have to stretch to play some of these voicings- I use a 24" scale Fender Jaguar to make it easier. may the transcription light your way to insight, like the tubes from a thousand boutique amps. I think of it as "note clustered modality" launched from a base that is a maj7 without the 3rd. God bless the ears and hands of Danny Begelman. google him! cheers and harmony to all.

Wayne Krantz was an acquired taste on that tour and I appreciated the fact that Walter and Donald had again chosen a relatively obscure, locally situated player (such as Zingg, Wadenius) to contribute to the cause. I recognized that they wanted something fresh and unpredictable in the show. Sure, Krantz arguably overplayed, tried to blow sax lines ( not as well as Rogers and Parks on Lucky Henry), and never let up- I liked it and acquired the desire to buy his CD. If that solo piques your interest, I highly recommend you start with "Signals". I admire his individuality and "never sell out" work ethic.

Greetings and soulful appreciation (deeper than heartfelt) for these efforts. I grew up a few stops down Union Turnpike on the Q44A from WB Way and it was a great pleasure to attend the naming ceremony (I was the one who correctly responded "cup of spleen"). Howard Rodman's lovely comments alone were worth the drive from Ann Arbor in torrential rain. Perhaps his words could be posted on this site. I finally had the chance to plug in my flash drive and scroll through the titles. I started with "This Is My Building" since I had just been standing in front of Walter's. I believe I understand reservations you might have had putting this one out considering the paucity of production. However, I hear so much more than a drum machine, dissonant note clusters on time-worn synth patches and a relatively dry mic. The under-production works more effectively without orchestration- it's a Rorschach blot: listen and extrapolate as semi-tones clash (and harmonics blossom like tubes in a boutique amp) the greater musical context with a third ear. Considering the protagonist (the subject of the abject subject matter) it doesn't need further embellishment. The voice. In this simple demo, Walter's voice is fully exposed- drenched with raw nuance and expression. We can hear the rasp, the breaths and breaks- perish the thought of that good stuff getting buried in a bigger mix. Like Bob Dylan with just a guitar and a harmonica, no one but Walter could properly sing this song. The voice is alone as this guy is alone: a naked singularity of a soul at liberty- and he's okay for having gone low. He's playing falsetto tuba, scat singing! This is yet another "darkling" down. He's accepted it, then embraced it and, finally, celebrating it! Why not float the little flag on the buoy at the surface so everyone knows there's a diver down there. Bulls and Bears make money; Pigs like this get slaughtered (or kill themselves with three-martini lunches) Fo weal! If there are more like this- please be encouraged by these reviews and kindly set them free. cheers David ps: that would be Big Daddy from Cat on a hot tin roof. However, Big Daddy learns that contrary to what he thought, he will not live to celebrate his next birthday. Perhaps this is another haunting specimen of Walter's "late show" metaphor. We've heard it in "Door Number Two" and "Circus Monkey" - oops, I meant Money. Perhaps if our short-seller's wise-cracking heart was leaking like a sieve with one more bang to give, then maybe he's not destined to make it to the opening bell after all... pps: hello Martha, it would have been nice to shake your hand.