it’s not quite late on a saturday night. I put the boy to bed after a late night reveling at a wedding. he played hard and then fought hard to go to sleep. under two, and completely fueled by passion.
do you remember those days? of course not. our minds not developed for storing anything longterm. their sole role to learn, absorb, and adjust to everything. being passionate later in life doesn’t come easy.
I don’t know much about jazz -as in I’m no connoisseur. over the last twenty years different people have introduced me to records or composers. while I never paid too much attention to album names, or the names of players of instruments, over time I learned a few and can tell when they’re on the stereo.
one thing is certain about jazz. the players are passionate. and mostly they are low on talking and words. the melodies unfold with joy and sorrow in equal measure. each player allowed to investigate their reaction to the assigned palette of often dissonant notes.
you can hear it well with Pharoah Sanders. no holding back with Sanders…
…once a boy, who grew to man. he lives grown, with as much passion as he did before he could speak more than a few fragmented words.
I ask myself.
how am I livin?