HIGH HAT
Unclaimed changes, tempo breaks, long
slow drone of the peripatetic shake : this
piece has no score at all. 'We 'jes playin',
man, or does you not understand'?
-
I did, and then I did again : smoke was
pouring from that tenor sax like a made-up
scene in a bad old western : six-gun Molly
comes a struttin' in sweet, here on 27th Street.
-
'I lost the law when the law lost me, and now
there's just nothing more to do; been comin'
here each week for near on a decade already.
We learn to play just watching them play.'
-
Over on the riser, the drum man skittered,
hi crazy blue eyes mad, gone far, out.
The tempo he kept was the heart of
a cat : stern, wild, careening and fat.
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