Jazz does something to me.
It wrenches my little heart out, stomps on it, takes it out for a ride on a rollercoaster, and puts it back in nicely where it belongs.
It makes me a nervous, emotional, crying wreck of a human being who can’t live for much longer. It freaks me out so much that I feel inadequate to even attempt playing it, and feel sick for hours before.
It makes me so excited that I could spend all night just jamming to the same chord progression, with some slightly intoxicated instrumentalists. Laughing like a stupid and feeling very alive.
It makes me sing like nothing else could. Reaching down to my toes for any last shreds of emotion and making me expose everything. (Musically speaking). Going higher and lower than I really ever dare with normal, sane-people music.
It relaxes me and removes tension both physically and emotionally. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling in my belly.
Somehow, you can be completely unrehearsed with your band members and yet the most amazing, mind-blowing stuff happens as you perform and you think “YES!! We can totally make money doing this.”
Or, you can be very well prepared, get up to do your thing, and one persons messes up the juju and it all goes to pot and you think “NO. We suck at jazz and even music in general and we should probably all work at WalMart.” Why does it do that to us?
Jazz is majestic, dignified, crazy, insane, dysfunctional, beautiful, ugly, down-right hilarious, elegant, and only appropriate for the mentally unstable.
Am I making any sense? Oh well.