when you drop a piano...

...on an army camp, you're left with a??? flat major. that and every other sad piano joke ever conjured saved my life last night.



i recall a conversation from a few years ago, with herman leonard - this super brilliant jazz photographer. and he shared a conversation he'd in turn had with nobody lesser than dizzie. So dizzie and herman were in a limo cruising though paris. PERFECT. and on the radio there was a sax blower blowin it up. so herman asks dizzie if that was charlie parker. and dizzie says, he's charlie parker. but he's not charlie parker. he's a kid who's studied in a music school. he's got his technique down to a 't'. you'll never catch him making a mistake. but he's not charlie parker. he didn't learn from the street. you'll never catch him making a mistake. he has no soul.



and so it happened, i don't care if bebop means a systematic chord progression with improvised layers all floating forward with 'emotional kinetic energy'. i don't care for all the pop babble that you can spew. i don't care if your music's got no soul. i don't care if my english teacher said don't use no double negatives.

one massive thumb down!!