and blues too.


the thing is, its neither, unless you DECIDE to fall off a cliff. its why so many jazz players are potheads, but its not necessary. if you are jazz. no, im not being abstract. serious. ARE.

you have to fall off a wall. humpty dumpty, baby, all the way. sounds outrageously corny, but so is jazz. its fucking unabashed. you die of corny. have you heard diane shur sing time after time? its sick, she’s sick. [big smile, yunhunh.]

a sick, unwell woman. or the only one in her right mind, one or the other.

tonight it was the only thing to do after a month of 105 degree days, a ginger carrot soup (mind you, with powdered ginger, blechhhh, apparently id forgotten to pick some up) with all the windows open and the wind picking up and the orchestral version of joni mitchell’s cherokee louise on the stereo LOUD. sometimes there’s nothing except to celebrate. but she falls off the wall, easily. relinquishes. succumbs. dies. jazz.

but that’s blues too. its funny, i rarely hear people play like they are falling off the wall, dripping down like honey or time, making a mess the bees will be all over. i see the expectation, the simulation, the hope for blues, the hope that the soul will get free’d cause someone threw it to the wind. i hear folks come close. its a feature of playing with just the right mix of others and being right with your thing. makes me wanna say: hey baby, you ok? cant you feel nuthin??

i love you, i say. im sorry, i say. im trying to be a better sister, i say. dont die, for heavens sake. just play. and fall. go ahead and melt, the heat’ll get you anyway. and if that doesnt, the heart will.

kate’s birthday today. happy birthday, miss kate.

here: someone who falls! like a prayer, like the ultimate orchestra conductor: