Jazz as I Clean

 

Seen in Coimbra

Jazz is hearing a warping dropping bass line and thinking where have I heard that style before? Was it Jaco? Was it something Ron Carter did that time I saw him in the 200 seat auditorium? My ears perked up to hear where the guitarist on the hollow body Gibson takes the theme next. I wonder if this will end with soft piano tinkling and brushes playing atop the drums or something bolder? Maybe it will spin off into a much different theme. Jazz plays and suddenly I am back in the 1970s listening to jazz from the late fifties and the fusion sound of Return to Forever and Herbie Hancock.

Suddenly the music takes a sharp left turn and the guitar player drops into some soft melodic noodling and the piano fades to a gentle counterpoint. Just as suddenly I remember a night in the dormitory with all my midterms done and dinner in the cafeteria over. I lit up a damn fine joint and started listening to Joe Sample and then moved on to that Chick Chorea Gary Burton vibe driven thing. With a candle burning I leaned across my bed and rested my head against the pale green wall and let the music take me away. I am pretty sure the snow outside was six inches deep and my room's window panes in that old red brick building were completely frosted over.

Damn the song changes. The combo goes old school. The Hammond B3 is now leading the way into something you would have seen in a smoky New York jazz club circa 1967. I can see a room in dim light jammed full of small circular tables with people drinking Manhattans and nodding their heads and occasionally going “Yeah man.” I think as I continue my chores that before this night is over I should dig out some of those vintage Miles tunes that I had on that old jazz label, maybe Nature Boy. Or maybe I should check out something like Gil Scott Heron’s Pieces of a Man.

Yeah, jazz takes you to places you have forgotten or never been. Jazz is a journey through time and emotion filled with rich, soulful melodies.