That Old Blue Note or Lady Day wasn't never this way

Missy Babette likes to sing that old time jazz
she says 'like Billy what's-her-name' with that sultry glance.
But the sound gets strangled back of B's throat
though she thinks she's singing a deep blue note

Now there's George, he croons away to that old time jazz
thinks he's Dean Martin, a real smooth dude.
But G, he's vibrating way down in his throat
and he sure isn't singing a deep blue note

No, that old blue note ain't easily found.
That old blue note's been around and around
Now you me and them, that makes more than three
and we don't stand a chance next those youngsters that jive
with their nu-jazz sound,
tradin' on looks,
cocaine,
walkin' tall,
rappin' small
feelin' down.

Meanwhile Miss Babette and old George they do moan
'bout the way jazz has changed
and it's changed and then some.

"Lady Day wasn't never this way" Babette says
No way, no way, no way, no way
Lady Day wasn't never this way

Melodius Thunk

Melodius Thunk
Thelonius Monk
Spherical Joke
going for broke.
Contagious atmospherics,
cliff-hanger chords on high.
Pannonica's child
playing so wild.
The loneliest monk
doing a bunk.
T.S. and Boo Boo beaming
dreaming of Rocky Mount

Indigo Walk

Just an afternoon or two,
of limited beckoning.
He touches her lips.
He has a golden tongue.
He tells he things she only dreams about.
It's a deception.
She is hypnotised by the people on the street below.
That kind of fascination; warm and scary,
heaven drifting past the window
but stopping a while inside this room.
He has purchased an hour;
time for the city to heat his blood and move on.
She lets her fingers work his buttons
and laughs before she straddles him
while he breathes hot in the shimmering light.
Too loud, he murmurs.
but he door is locked and they sigh.
The shade stretches all the way down Indigo Walk
as the blues man carries the beat.

Dicing with Donna (Donna Lee)

Back home in Indiana
He plays those bebop bass lines
with a rapid tempo hurl
and it’s all Curly’s girl
can do to keep up with the changes.
Pretty Donna Lee
sittin’ in the sidelines
Smilin’ at her Daddy’o,
heating the beat
while Miles swings along
and let’s old Bird take the lead.

Earlier, sooner, later, now
A skitter skatter,
pitter patter
virtuoso harmonies
from the thin men.
And old Fats wasn’t so old.
ice freezing blood red at 26,
Indiana spawning
chromatic melodies
to make your toes curl.

Miles, sweet nineteen,
he’d been kissed,
don’t tell me not,
sliced and diced
that solo sizzle,
gave birth to Bird’s
cool bebop drizzle
like rain drops
fast on a window pane.
No music so fine,
no sound so sublime.
A dime each time it’s played
by fresh young dukes
out to nuke the opposition.

Jaco’s solo speed undone
His fingers hazing, trailing some
The time all tempo-fused and random
The conga questioning rhythm grows
What to do when Donna’s done.
What indeed? The thread’s unspun.

How Duke Jordan Changed the World - performed to Jordu

When Jordan penned this number it was new
and few had tried to do what he could do.
He'd played with all the best
that was Jordu
You know the rest
Parker's inspiration caught Duke's ear
but he missed the chance to dance in France
Instead, he worked with Getz
and gigged some more
That was Jordu

Bebop plays it hard in all the uptown clubs
The scene in 41 was just fermenting
By 54 the scene had crystallized
The music Duke played, it really jumped
The first to lay it down for all to hear
was Clifford Roach with Brown,
they played it clear,
but as the good in jazz - they all die young.
Brown bought the farm.

I know you want to hear the rest of the story
and I'm going to oblige.
Just you settle now and listen
to the way in which the music goes on and on and...
Inside the rhythm it gives a little bit
and we hear the way in which
the given notes inform the melody,
though improvising was the order of the day.
And I don't have to tell you all
how hard it is to tell the folks
all listening to the beat,
'cos you're listening now,
in tandem with the souls who've gone before.
Best beloved we sit with them now,
and the world can't hear them
though they hold them dear.
Reign in your emotions for a while.
Hear what I say...

(solos)

When Jordan penned this number it was new
and few had tried to do what he could do.
He'd played with all the best
that was Jordu
You know the rest
Parker's inspiration caught Duke's ear
but he missed the chance to dance in France
Instead, he worked with Getz
and gigged some more
That was Jordu

Bebop plays it hard in all the uptown clubs
The scene in 41 was just fermenting
By 54 the scene had crystallized
The music Duke played, it really jumped
The first to lay it down for all to hear
was Clifford Roach with Brown,
they played it clear,
but as the good in jazz - they all die young.
Brown bought the farm.
That was Jordu
That was Jordu

Senor Blues Danced on Mama's Grave - performed to Senor Blues by Horace Silver

Senor blues danced on Mama's grave
while they kept us busy.
The peppermint girl and the grandfather's
saying 'a thing like that could harm you',
and the others running round and round,
laying her down in that cool dark earth.
Despair has a nasty smell but it's high and fine
after a decent silence.

And back then I was brand new for sure.
Old ladies with alligator purses
dropped coins in my palm with a polite distance.
Their grey eyes followed my every move,
afternoon rainbows everywhere.
I looked away and avoided thinking about the huge coffin.

We walked past the cemetary
while the bass nursed the tune along.
Every vibration coming straight from the universe.
He was shooting the breeze about the blues.
'Sit long enough and the whole world passes you by'.
He said: 'You don't own the music, it comes through you'.
And twenty years later,
there's just the peppermint girl and the grandfathers.

High Beam

This woman
reached out to me
when I was least expecting it.
She told me she was hanged
by the Klu Klux Klan,
though I don't know how
or why
or where
or when,
and I certainly wasn't expectin'
to tell a story about that kind of thing,
but wanted to tread the path to Storyville,
New Orleans,
where the whores hung out
and the jazz played
loud on honky tonk pianos
that needed tuning.
But there she was
waiting for me on the road.
A woman called Pearl,
and she told me
to tell you
that although white women
shouldn't sing the blues
they often do.

Pearl's tale is one of woe.
Woe is me.
She hangs on the tree
the high beam
Jim Beam
watch what you say
when you're on your way.
The day's
gone astray
as we pass under
the beam
that hangs her high
from the neck
so that her feet
don't touch the ground
around
as the grass stops growing
and the blood starts flowing.

It was so easy to die
On high beam
as the people passed by
and Pearl's teeth
shone white
like a forest of stars
She screamed
"I didn't do nothin' wrong
but hold my head high"
and she sighed
and drew her last breath.

High beam
Jim Beam
Just a bottle or two
as her shoe
fell off her foot.
And I think,
I don't want her to die
with one shoe on
and one shoe off.
Hell, I don't want her to die at all,
but then,
if she hadn't
I wouldn't know to tell this story.

High Beam
Jim Beam
wash her clean
in the cool clear stream
of water that flows
beneath the bridge out there
beyond the field
where the cotton grows high.
Let her fly
back to her place
at God's side.
Where did she come from?
I don't know.
She was a voice
and a picture with her swinging
from the gallows,
tellin' me things
I had no right to know,
and even less to tell,
as a white woman
but that's what happens sometimes
when you let the story come through.