Since
1900s with Scott Joplins and I fell in love. I did not understand why
they, the pupils of the 10th grade music course, were somewhat
devastated when Mrs. Artmeyer said "Jazz!". Wait, was that their
reaction, or was it unexpected uncertainity and forced acceptance? I
failed to recall. One thing for sure, they did not love the course / the
module as much as I did.
For the first time, in that first semester, we were handed books. Surprised. I thought I was going to hate this, she was not like Mr. Vetter. But I did not know what the coming lessons were going to be and I let it happen, acknowledged that I had no choice. Jazz was going to be a legit theory-module in our music course. Damn.
Take Five, Dave Brubeck. The first track I heard, traditional jazz. She rewinded, then continued chronologically. As in New Orleans - Chicago - Swing - Bebop chronological. I loved it. I loved how she introduced us to Jazz. All kinds of it.
My heart skipped a beat (syncopation; like an off-beat) when on one winter school day she said that we would go to a concert club... and that there would be a jazz band playing there. So Monday night, at Basel Claraplatz 1900 sharp. Got it.
I got a ride with Svea, Nina, Tim, Lena and Jonas. The excitement raging inside me was stronger than the thought of my own pride, I felt that as I enter the club upfront. Dim lights, wooden chairs and flooring, the bar was just opened, owners and workers were still preparing then. We got the seats and waited for the others and chitty-chatted until those genius got up on stage.
One sax player, two trumpet players, one trombone player, one "drummer" and if I was not mistaken, one keyboardist.
For the first time, in that first semester, we were handed books. Surprised. I thought I was going to hate this, she was not like Mr. Vetter. But I did not know what the coming lessons were going to be and I let it happen, acknowledged that I had no choice. Jazz was going to be a legit theory-module in our music course. Damn.
Take Five, Dave Brubeck. The first track I heard, traditional jazz. She rewinded, then continued chronologically. As in New Orleans - Chicago - Swing - Bebop chronological. I loved it. I loved how she introduced us to Jazz. All kinds of it.
My heart skipped a beat (syncopation; like an off-beat) when on one winter school day she said that we would go to a concert club... and that there would be a jazz band playing there. So Monday night, at Basel Claraplatz 1900 sharp. Got it.
I got a ride with Svea, Nina, Tim, Lena and Jonas. The excitement raging inside me was stronger than the thought of my own pride, I felt that as I enter the club upfront. Dim lights, wooden chairs and flooring, the bar was just opened, owners and workers were still preparing then. We got the seats and waited for the others and chitty-chatted until those genius got up on stage.
One sax player, two trumpet players, one trombone player, one "drummer" and if I was not mistaken, one keyboardist.
 |
| cr: jessibearr on tumblr "You can't hear it, you know? You have to see it. You have to see what's in stage. Look at these fellas. Look at this sax player right now. He just hijacked the song, he's on his own trip. Every one of these guys are composing, they're rearranging, writing and they're playing the melody. And now look, the trumpet player. He has got his own idea. And so, it's conflict, it's compromise, and it's new every time. It's brand new every night. Very, very exciting." — La La Land (2017) |
Sebastian
took the words right off my fingers. How he explained (and persuaded)
Mia of Jazz at The Lighthouse Cafe was exactly how I saw that band in a
tiny lounge in Basel.
The show was an excursion to South America and its Latin Jazz. A few couples were dancing, someone from the crowd got on stage and replaced the drummer while he got on another instrument in his hands. Tim moved from our coop and sat in the corner, bored, with Nina following him and they talked there. he atmosphere was perhaps great for me only, living the moment. I knew then, that it would be one of the unforgettable moments in my life, in my teenage years. A momentum.
At some point that night, Jonas ordered a ginger ale which had cucumber in it (important to mention). It was the first time I tried ginger ale and actually recorded how it tasted. Jonas was the only person in class who listened to Jazz. I remembered how he suggested that we did a jazz freestyle jamming session at band practice. I also remember how he begged Mrs. Artmeyer that we listened to Benny Goodman's Sing, Sing, Sing and she played Glenn Miller's In The Mood instead. He was a Swingkid. I mean, look at how he held two pens as drumsticks, how his feet would not stop tapping.
I told friends about that night. They thought it was "cool" at first. But they did not expect me to tell them songs that bring them to sleep, songs that were from old dead musicians, songs that were not from Frank Sinatra. They respected me as a person who listens to those kinds of jazz. No, they rather respected me as a person who is passionate about something. I would mention jazz once ever so passionately and that was what they remembered: not the jazz, but how raised my tone was when I talked about it, how my eyes begun to gleam when I see someone plays it. I may not be a musician like Jonas, I barely play, I barely keep tempo. But a music module, a night, made Jazz something else for me. New with a big impact.
The show was an excursion to South America and its Latin Jazz. A few couples were dancing, someone from the crowd got on stage and replaced the drummer while he got on another instrument in his hands. Tim moved from our coop and sat in the corner, bored, with Nina following him and they talked there. he atmosphere was perhaps great for me only, living the moment. I knew then, that it would be one of the unforgettable moments in my life, in my teenage years. A momentum.
At some point that night, Jonas ordered a ginger ale which had cucumber in it (important to mention). It was the first time I tried ginger ale and actually recorded how it tasted. Jonas was the only person in class who listened to Jazz. I remembered how he suggested that we did a jazz freestyle jamming session at band practice. I also remember how he begged Mrs. Artmeyer that we listened to Benny Goodman's Sing, Sing, Sing and she played Glenn Miller's In The Mood instead. He was a Swingkid. I mean, look at how he held two pens as drumsticks, how his feet would not stop tapping.
I told friends about that night. They thought it was "cool" at first. But they did not expect me to tell them songs that bring them to sleep, songs that were from old dead musicians, songs that were not from Frank Sinatra. They respected me as a person who listens to those kinds of jazz. No, they rather respected me as a person who is passionate about something. I would mention jazz once ever so passionately and that was what they remembered: not the jazz, but how raised my tone was when I talked about it, how my eyes begun to gleam when I see someone plays it. I may not be a musician like Jonas, I barely play, I barely keep tempo. But a music module, a night, made Jazz something else for me. New with a big impact.
"How can you be revolutionary, if you're such a traditionalist? You hold on to the past, but jazz is about the future."
It's dying, I know. But I am one person out of a few, who is still giving appreciation to the past. And fuck it, I enjoy trying my best to make it present, for the future.
"Das hast du alles vorbereitet?" guckt er mich abwertend an.
"Ja, das macht mir spaß." antwortete ich, mit Augen leuchten hell.
"Oh." emotionsfrei, er nickte zu.
"Warum lernst du nicht?"
"Ist sogar okay, wenn ich den Test verkacke. Mich interessiert das nicht."
and I lost him there. He was also at that latin jazz night. But I decided to lose him.
 | ||
| cr: ry-gosling on tumblr "But somewhere in the crowd Could be the one you need to know The one to fin'lly lift you off the ground." |
 |
| cr: jessibearr on tumblr that kind of the one. is whom I am waiting for. |
I now order ginger ale when I eat out.
