Honey-flowing rivulets of jazz-beaten syncope, Trumpets blowing smoke across the room, ‘Curveball’ Sammy hustles bass behind the bar, Snares his songbird in a played back loop.
Harlem shufflers work the floor, breaking safe, Clave rhythm scufflers with a New York twist, Black keys write with borrowed brass on iv’ry walls, Pick the lock on a swelt’ring southern riff.
‘If you have to ask what jazz is, you’ll never know.’ - Louis Armstrong