so what if miles davis never wrote lyrics?

(bass intro, then bass plays melody line, with words over, with all instruments playing the ‘so what’ instead of the words)

Come and listen to the show, so what
Come and listen to the show now, so what
We’ve got everybody here, so what
All life represented, so what
There’s the great, the good, the bad, so what
No one missing here you know that, so what
And we’ll play those tunes for you, so what
The ones you have remembered, so what
We’ll do it so you might love jazz, so what
We’ll do it just to entertain you, so what
And though you might decide to laugh, so what
What the hell if you do now, so what
So it’s coming to the time, so what
When we offer up our spirit, so what
To the night, the deep dark night, so what
Here we go then, let’s play it

(walking bass, with other instruments comping,
words follow the Miles Davis trumpet solo)

Well my friends, Davis wrote this tune now
Though you may not get the meaning
I’ll fill you in so that you can say that,
you have learned something ‘bout so what as a tune now
When Davis wrote the melody he was the greatest
Playing it pure, breathin’ the rhythm,
drinkin’ it, feelin’ it down deep now,
and we all sat and listened to the sound he produced
cos he really swung now
He really swung yeah
Bebop was a force to reckon with
Bebop was on the lips of everyone - Bebop
He knew the time had come
to create something invincible
Something really way out
And he took it, blended it and bent it
so it changed the way we…
thought about the way that we played our jazz now
Just giving it new strength, new meaning
And some said so what,
So what if Miles plays like a god
So what
But still we loved it
when he sang through the notes he played for us.

(instrumental solos – then back to head)

There we’ve come to the end, so what
The end you know of the beginning, so what
We’ve got everybody here, so what
All life represented, so what
There’s the great, the good, the bad, so what
No one missing here you know that, so what
And we’ll play those tunes for you, so what
The ones you have remembered, so what
We’ll do it so you might love jazz, so what
We’ll do it just to entertain you, so what
And though you might decide to laugh, so what
What the hell if you do now, so what
So it’s coming to the time, so what
When we offer up our spirit, so what
To the night, the deep dark night, so what
Here we go then, let’s play it

©2007 Angela J Elliott

the day lee morgan died - to sidewinder

Happy with Helen
making money on the grand concourse
falling for the sweet young thing
and the cocaine is melting
loosin' his groovin'
so he totals the car
walking away from death
though the snow has turned to ice
or something like that
and she's got the gun
not the bitch, but Helen
slugs on third street avenue c
dying from loss of blood
and he says
get away from me you dirty bitch
talkin' to the man
it's Helen's ritual
the way it was
the day Lee Morgan died

©2007 Angela J Elliott

get this - impressions

Get this, they say
Poetry and jazz gain new dimensions in association.
The troubadours
Telling their tales
Of courtly love,
The language of persuasion.
Jivy music and the great wise poet
Content to applaud those ancient expressions
Mankind’s need to tell stories
Pouring new life into the swing
That melodic, harmonic, rhythmical thing.

No scat attack but a bass duet
Music woven, phrased
And ear-to-mind connection
Each note improvisation

Shining solo warriors
Messengers in blue
No money for medicine
And the dangerous jazzman
Junky, funky, punky and cute
Versatile and quick
Fingers like knives
Stabbing the jive
In the silence between notes
Hero worshipping
Coltrane at his best
And the music flows.
No musical dogfight,
Immortalised
We are going to be richer.
This is as it should be
Nothing outrageous
But the talking blues.
A relationship
In freedom
Flesh and blood connection
More than song
More than the groove
Deeper than that
I see
In the dim light of a cold water walk up
Jazz and poetry are meant to be

remember me to the weary blues

Remember me to the weary blues
The breathing room and the wooden radio
Remember me to the weary blues
The straightness of the road
and the pink of the sky
Where the fading sun falls to the sea

The trees are bare and the car lurches on
A pale moon, we’re drivin’ and talkin’
The trees are bare and the car lurches on
Spring’s first flush along the verge
Arriving in darkness,
electric blue dinner,
a fragile neon

Inside jazz band tunes jagged,
the smell of coffee
Warm soap and cigarettes.
Jazz band tunes play on,
a sticky floor and the tiredness of travel lingers,
come evenin’ we’re driftin’,
I’m floatin’, it’s seemin’

Every time I close my eyes
that New York minute flies just flies
And in the space for silence the car is warm;
Leather seats like God’s cupped hands
The smell petrol and dust,
and we can drive all night

The pulse beat of the people
keeps right on going
The pulse bet of the people
keeps right on going
All this love in my soul,
a life painting pictures in blue

Remember me to the weary blues
The breathing room and the wooden radio
Night growing cold, moon waning thin
And I’ve got nothing to do but sleep
Remember me to the weary blues
The weary blues and Langston Hughes


©2007 Angela J Elliott

first day on the blog

I've blogged before. Usually what happens is that I start to blog, get some way into the process and decide the whole thing is an awesome waste of time. Then I delete the whole kit and caboodle and live a blogless life once more - until the next time.

Blogs in the past have included a search for skippy peanut butter and something about living in a lighthouse. Nothing useful.

This blog is going to be more... how shall I say? More about what I write and why. Oh, and how... maybe.

Here goes...