my english teacher, a pict, of all people, massive fan of led zeppelin, introduced me to jazz... he just said: if you don't own miles davis' kind of blue by the age you're 30, you're in a shambo (knee deep in ****)... well, a ferocious over-zealous teen like any, i made the purchase aged 16.
after that, it was easy... i borrowed a compilation -
jazz on a summer's day: hot bun these days...
selling, new, for £61.47... my, that's not bad...
it might or it might not have
art blakey & the messangers'
if someone doesn't like this song,
let's just say: trying to convince this
person for more jazz is,
a "bit" pointless;
if this gold standard doesn't
convince the person in question,
where you can feel each of
the instrument's solos...
pontius pilate moment:
snap-chat the rest.
still... i'm thinking of this saxophone
player that played the jazz
standard how deep is the ocean
with such a distinct technique;
ever heard a wheezing out of
breath saxophone player?
the wheezing one,
the trembling-f-f-f-f one...
god, the name escapes me,
feels like i minding what
lionel nation might provide
with due anecdotes...
this is going to **** me...
i want to remember his name,
i know i copied the c.d. -
and mind you, why buy compact discs
headphones are too portable,
at at times: to claustrophobic,
cultural appropriation yet? we hit
the high tide watermark?
oh, i'm not worried about the spaghetti,
just asking, because i was just
going to say: classical music sounds
great in a concert hall, a bit ******
on the radio with all the adverts news
shady bars and certainly the radio...
i've been trying to find a jazz-only
radio station on the english FM / AM scale...
nothing, not even an s.o.s.;
come on, *******-it!
what was that saxophone player?!
**** it, whatever, the trembling-f-f-f-f
bordering on asthma blowing guy...
can't be bothered enough to make the classy
get lisa simpson on the case...
i heard that robbie pinsky is still
on the case, hat off to you mate,
for those nostalgia pieces,
or reviving the beatnik **** of poetry
i wouldn't know where to begin:
i talk into the **** thing,
i don't talk over it...
looks a "bit" crap, given rap...
then again rap has become a mono-syllable
rhyming machine: ye yeah ye yeah um yeah
ye um yeah...
mr. luvva luvva... ooh...
slobbering mr. spastic, mr. fantastic,
diaper donning, hush ooh, shoo hugs shoo...
give up the buttocks for...
white self-consciousness just kicked in,
and i feel like a middle-aged dad of three kids
and embarrassing a niece at her wedding...
even i know that ini kamoze
made relative sense, by comparison.