Hot notes

He threw a note out, and I caught it and rode it.

I was up the hill where it was hot and sunny but close enough so those cats could chill me. The green flowed all the way down to the stage, I was high enough to surf the rhythm.

The crowd was spread out like a tossed bowl of candies on their blankets, they got their glasses in the shade. Their backs were to me, so I was free of them.

I had a rock and brought a pillow but I didn’t want them for long. When the notes hit me, they broke me down and I got up and moved.

For two numbers, I improvised my limbs one axe heat after another. I climbed the rope and twisted in the wind. No noodlin’ and no schmaltz to drag me down.

The sax grabbed a bird’s eye and I rode on its back. That kid could blow.


I rode the dragonflies with my fingers, they all turned golden when the sunset electrified their wings. No one cared if I was going to flip, I didn’t care, I was booted with these guys.

When they gave that hide hitter some heat, the grass grooved with him, all slashes of beauty, and I was jumpin’ in the pocket. I don’t know if they could see me but I felt like it was jake and anyhow I didn’t care.

I hated hearing the final tag and was sorry when they had to cut. I got back in my boat and rowed to town.

Who needs junk when there’s jazz smokin’ on the field?

Today’s penny is a 2003 – the year that Kind of Blue by Miles Davis was ranked number 12 on Rolling Stone magazine’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time.

For a glossary of jazz slang, lookie here.