“If I had a jazz band…”
Well, for the first time in all these many years of jazz fest in our area, we finally went to the event to see what we might be missing out on. Or rather to prove that we had made all the correct pre-judgements. Our Friday evening at the local beer park turned out to be a few moments to people watch and a great way to begin a new blog.
The evening began with a decision based on the beautiful weather on whether or not we should hit the open road with the motorcycle. And then where would we go, or what would we have for a destination plan? We knew that Jazz Fest was happening so that was the choice. The attraction the week before to Hot Harley nights was not ours, perhaps I could have some cotton candy? So off we went in search of bones– to enjoy the good temperatures and the lack of wind.
We were there only a few minutes when two little girls having a somersault race caught our attention. The tumblers were far more attractive than any of the mugs in the beer tents. There were far too many faces for “mug shots.” I was almost embarrassed for having gone to the event until we saw these little girls on their endless quest to outdo the other. The people watching had succeeded in making us smile.
The bad band on the main stage was about more than I could stand in one event. The first song that we heard was about alcohol. The second was about girls. The third song that made us turn around and head back out of the park was about bad booze, bad girls, and bad love. It was rather appalling for the amount of young people that were there. While the main stage was pretty bad for it’s music and then on the way out the smaller stage had a female vocalist that from the sounds of it was much better than main stage. From our half hour “affair” I could write a pretty bad review of the event in the local paper, but I’ll decline the opportunity.
On the motorcycle ride after leaving town my husband turned the public radio on to its evening jazz program. Wow, was that much better than the earlier audio sounds. So while we drove home, my mind had time to wander and I began to remember my jazz piano days. I decided that if I had a band I would name it-
If I had a jazz band…
…I would name it “The Cats Meow.” Why? Because honestly my cat’s meow is better than that lady singing at the garden. Yes,I know there is already a song of that title, but I did not find a band in my google search. So The Cat’s Meow it is.
I began to think of all the better things there are to write about than alcohol. So I began making a list of all the song titles and what they would talk about. I had more material for writing in just that short ride than I could imagine.
The open road
With the motorcycle underneath and the amber sky to the west the smells surrounding us and the change of temperatures driving us to stop to add layers, the open road on the motorcycle is something we both really enjoy. As we pass by the groves and waterways, the air changes and smells amazing of it’s alfalfa and sweet corn fields.
The fancy footwork
While I am a pianist at hand, I am a complete dud on the dance floor. But the fancy footwork that I did on the dance floor of the barn… with an ewe in tow and two lambs in hand…now that’s quite a jazz piece in the making if you can imagine the fingers on the keyboard stumbling over each other like all those legs and hooves and feet and what footwork it was!
The fresh air…
Ahh, the smells of the evening dew. The fresh air can carry those smells for long distances. The fresh skunk, and the grove of trees have no comparisons. The croaking frogs of the marsh creek bed. Yep, that’s a good one for the trumpet tune! As the bullfrogs jump through the headlight beams so the horns toot the breeze… literally.
The needle in the haystack…
Would this song be about Granny’s quilt rake and all the handsome sewing she does? Or would it be about the pin stuck in the inside of the quilt after the edge has already been done? Oh, this one sounds fun!
The smells of alfalfa, corn silk, feedlots, and creekbeds
My band would be so poplar! Like the quaking aspens that clap their hands (leaves). There would be wood wind chimes, fence rail drums, and garbage dumpster bass clangs. There would be water can snares, and jazz tunes about zinnias and spider webs in the greenhouse. My band is really going places now.
Just you wait and see, no festival could contain us.
…Now that a week has passed since this writing…
Most of my listening this past week was symphonic in nature. I had joy of holding my daughter’s little girl all week while she went back to work. She cried a lot. Bothe my daughter and the little one. Apparently gramma is just different. The day we listened to Mahler’s first symphony was probably the best for both of us. She is only 10 weeks, but thinks Oma is a bit opaque (a little foggy on the Isabelle guessing game). I know that she thinks this because I have seen her politeness with mommy and daddy.
Summer is slipping by fast and this weekend will certainly be another day closer to fall. I know this because the cicada’s are in full jamboree song! Sometimes I can not hear myself think for their buzzing.
They will be the razor in my band…