“Jazz isn’t something you practice; it’s something you play in front of people. Jazz is the moment.”
— Herbie Hancock
This is probably the main reason why I love jazz, and why I love not being an “expert” when it comes to jazz knowledge. I sure as all hell am no expert at life, but I do feel comfortable “playing” certain “notes” depending on the moment. I’m hard pressed to find other genres of music that so positively correlate with this collective of moments known as the human experience. Jazz are these moments. Jazz are the times of great elation. Jazz are the times of the deepest sorrow. Jazz is the mundane in between.
Jazz is riding in a yellow cab down a gray fog-choked, still slick street, on your way home from a lonely outing to a local theater. Jazz is a wine-soaked dinner with friends in a poorly lit dining room, everyone so cozy, so loose, so in the moment, everyone with the slightest grin, the bedroom eyes. Jazz is the initial exploration of a new lover’s body, the ups, the downs, the hard and the soft. Jazz is the dying heart, and the drumming pain associated with the cause of your grief, and while the heart may die, the jazz in the background plays on.
Jazz is the moment.