Page 77 - Jazz
P. 77

Miles and Zavinul in eternity

                     	 With the intention of writing a few words about
                     what I am listening to at a particular moment, I realise
                    that I do not feel any interest – nor is it my role – in
                   rehashing all kinds of information and dates into well-
                   informed fluency, logically faultless and certainly, as is
                  only right and proper, intelligent. I probably ought to be
                 more relaxed and to list dates and details about the way
                 the various instruments work together in the composition,
                or about the origin of the themes and the stories of the
               people who are bringing them alive for us, about their
               famous faces and what we know about them, and about
              what we know less of, about the covered-up stories or public
             actions that have stirred media interest, or about my simple
             and disturbing memories of them, of words magically uttered
            at a particular moment…
            	 But all these things, although I do not regard them as
           either pointless or to be neglected, are still so external, because
          all that the character within my inmost being will allow me to
          do is to sink deeper into my chair, to melt into the surrounding
         matter, or to put one elbow on the table and rest my head on
        my hand, enjoying the buzz of voices around me and any other
        murmuring of living life, enjoying the melancholy feelings that
       overwhelm me, the vague fragments of thoughts that wander
      through my mind, the luminescent presence of those around me,
      the way in which I listen to music to a point at which I disappear
     from the room, from the universe of objects on which I depend and
    which contain me and my appearance in myself.
    	 Then, when the final sounds die away, I surface, reappear and
   remember Joe Zavinul, who said that he wanted his tombstone to
   say beside his date of birth “born on earth” - “born in eternity”. And
  I remember Miles Davis in his concert in Paris and how, in a voice
 that was weary, unreal and almost inaudible, he seemed to be calling
on Zavinul to somehow as it were help him in the coming eternity:
Jo..., Jo..., Jo...Jooo ... Only for him too, a few months later, to cross the

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