Thinkin' in Jazz

Thinkin' in Jazz In the smoky air of a dim-lit bar, where the jazz notes are free to be/ I’m hittin’ the keys black-and-white, they dance under my fingers/ learning the language of the night, the pentatonic scale, my silent partner, whispering secrets through brass and wood, understood? Musician to musician, we gather round, swapping stories like currency, what we did, what we missed, a note here, a pause there, the bandstand our confessional, step by step, we’re reaching, stretching toward the horizon of sound, to be the best, to be more than echoes/ But tell me, brother, sister, what’s your pulse beneath the rhythm? What’s your political stance, your economic battle, when the music swells and sways/ does it blow through your horn, or does it just linger on the edges? Man, are you for real? Chet Baker, Lee Konitz, Paul Motian, Charlie Haden, their spirits weave through your melodies, a fusion of giants/ reminding you, that you are in good company, finding the art in your horn/ finding yourself, the horn as a vessel, a portal to transcending into the musical universe/ It is said the echoes of the great horn players, live in every musician's jazz head/ like stars in a midnight sky, waiting to be discovered on the road of jazz/ a worthy journey/ between sets, I’m composing, a song in my mind, in the back alley of my jazz gig/ where dreams collide with reality, and every note is not about playin’ on a stage/ every jazz blow, a breath, and at this moment, I’m alive, thinkin’ in jazz.