Thoughts: An essay of music and the world's functions

In this essay, I imagine meeting Charlie Parker, one of the Jazz Giants for Bebop. One of the metaphors lies in the fact that it doesn't make sense until after the first couple of reads.

*Hint: If you get flustered or annoyed, just realize that you're an example of the people in history that have come after the creation itself.

PS: This isn't exactly a final draft. So, if anyone's got suggestions, please feel free to criticize.

Directions: Just Read It Like There’s Music In Between The Lines

It’s the nonsensical matters. That’s what they are. The balls dropping, plank bounces, plop on pot. Rebound, swirl, land. They make that sexy double entendre of jazz different for everyone. Beautiful? Nah, better.

We know that. Can’t you feel it? Fike n’ pop da yah WAM! Yea, that was Max Roach; his drum sticks are magic guns on the pickup. Russell, Gillespie, Haig and Bird join in. A Night In Tunisia. Nobody can miss it.

Now, you might ask, “What the hell are you talking about?” I’m talking about bebop. That’s jazz. Real jazz. Real communication. Real life. Jazz for Roach, Russell, Gillespie, Haig, and Bird is like shaping water like a crystal ball. They are the future of jazz to come. They don’t know that yet, though. And another thing: you peer through the crystal, not at it. (In between the lines). Or for Bird, Charlie Bird Parker, you make it. I’m talking about that famous saxophonist in the second paragraph. I’m talking about his sentence structure. You didn’t know? Bird made bebop. With Dizzy Gillespie, Curly Russell and Max Roach, of course. And other big names, too. Bebop, real jazz, real communication, real life, is a crystal ball. Bird and them made it.

So when I meet Bird, we talk through sentence structure. Actually, Bird makes it and I just learn his hot twang and silk. Not stereotypical sentences, obviously, because it’s 1945. Bebob’s just being born. Right here, right now. In this room, New York City Town Hall. Dizzy and Bird are sprawling “A’s” and “C” sharp-natural-sharp. Like a battle. It’s an inverted G seven chord. Bluesy “B” flat. They hit it at the same time.

I play jazz, too. That’s why I can understand, sorta. Bird and I know there’s really no sentence structure to the song. But who understands that!? Normal people make the structure so they can understand. The innovators, they just feel it. Real understanding doesn’t need sentence structure. Like if you’re Bird, you don’t worry structure. You make it. That’s the trick.

You’re the trick. I’m the trick. What’s the trick? Call and response. Bird’s soloing on the bridge. He’s hanging over the precipice of the Golden Gate, but Russell’s base sticks him on key. Calls him back. Fyew! Chords can get complicated when you’re wavering over the edge, one foot grounded on sanity, the rest of the body peering down layers of air into the water that looks like a familiar crystal ball. What? Did you miss it? Bird was hanging wildly off the bridge. Musically, I mean. Looking down, the water was just waiting for Bird to shape it. Bird musically molded a crystal ball, with water! “Normal” people will use that water to make the actual crystal ball when they apply and understand the structure. Right now, the water is just waiting for Bird to shape it some more. Today, this bridge was intense. Charlie Bird Parker almost threw himself clear off it, but Russel’s base held him on key.

What exactly is this crystal ball, this jazz, this life? A symbol. Bird and the musicians shape the water, or music, they see. That’s just what they do. Later, people interpret and clarify that shape. It just so happens that it’s a crystal ball because you can see through it, through Bird’s music, and see the past, the present and the future.

That’s the jazz Bird and I discussed. That’s the jazz of life.