I have heard jazz refereed to as a conversation.
A rhythmic repartee of sound and beat. When a group of musicians meets for the first time, they check each other out like a like dogs in an alley. They circle with curiosity, and sniff at each other with great circumspect. All the time their tails are wagging. Eventually they deem each other worthy of the journey, and off they go together searching for more to join the pack.
Once the conversation begins on stage, it can become a thing of magic. It also can become a hot mess.
When it’s magic, you can hear the bass teasing the horns, and the piano laughing as the sax tries to take center stage. There is a gleam in the eye of the musicians that shines an energy that those of us lucky to be watching share as we listen.
And when it’s a hot mess, it’s still one of the most energizing experience you can have.
It’s the struggle.
It’s the passion.
It’s the love.
Men and women, stepping in and out of the light, making our hearts beat a little lighter.
Men and women who are speaking in time.