My Jazz

(Press Play Before Reading)

"An ode to this music I love..."

I like my jazz…served with a cold side of blues brewed to perfection, drizzled with soul and pain; I like my jazz maimed. Cut in 32s of staccato and lip tongue action.

I like my jazz…allegro.

But you know what, as a matter of fact I like my jazz…slow. The kind of slow that requires you to hold someone close and dance toe in toe. I like my jazz to be cool and calm. To set the ambiance and tone for a suspenseful eve of crescendos  and a climax  to rival no other.

I like my jazz smooth. Entwined in the emotions one feels after a long day of pulling rhythmic bass stings or playing whole notes. Smooth like a brew of honey jack on the top of a piano. And it’s hard to explain how after hours of playing and drinking I can feel every single key. I feel the vibrance of every single note. Pure legato.

I like my jazz featured on the sexo… I mean the saxophone. The machine of the articulate tongue that works wonders in the right hands; alto only though because if I whip out a baritone it might be too deep. 

I like my jazz…nasty. Funked out of its frame just disgusting jazz jizz on sheet music. Full of Skeedits, DooBops, Beedeps Deedits, fat notes and dissonance.

I like my jazz to swing. I like my jazz fast, making me have to move my a** and double step to the beat.

I like my jazz to touch my soul and love me unconditionally. I like my jazz to mambo with a taste of Latina suction I mean the seduction of conversing with the gods.

I like my jazz Dixie and Ditsy. Or to give me a chant and cannon over and over again.

I like my jazz on trumpet. Because when lips touch brass it’s to only plays strong. And if you can’t handle the range there is a mute to soften the roar. The Weeees and Woaawoaaws bellowing from the cup.

I like my jazz to be manufactured my Mingus, Davis, Ellington, Parker, Marsalis, Coltrane, Gillespie and every other bad mama-jamma to ever touch an instrument and mastered the art of this music I love.

This is where you da capo.  (repeat)

The coda of this dedication to jazz is me allowing Mingus to finish writing this poem and keep on Moanin’.

You let the track play to the end and DJ, don’t dare touch the volume, stop or pause. You let this one RIIIiiiide out…..

-Moises Seraphin