In case you’ve read any of my other blogs, I have somewhat of an unhealthy obsession with a very special form of music. Jazz.
I love, love, love the smoothly orchestrated chaos of something like Charles’ Mingus’s “Moanin”, or the soft beats of something like Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five”. I’ve fallen in love with musical artists who can capture noise and portray it not as an evocation of power, but as something of a calm artwork. The song I’m listening to right now by Duncan Lamont is conveying the same pleasure as rolling a smooth stone in your hand during a stressful day does, or suddenly coming to the conclusion of a long-standing problem after having taken a break from it. The sensations evoked are not so much emotions, as they are the feelings of pleasurable memories, each and every one of pleasure.
Ironically, I have only been listening to Jazz for the past 6 months. I honestly used to make fun of it, viewing the entirety of the genre as somewhat of a meme or joke. I could not tell you how badly I was I wrong. I don’t think since beginning to listen to jazz artists 6 months ago, a day has gone by I haven’t listened to one. I listened to the girl from Ipanema for 6 hours straight only a few weeks ago.
The genre today seems to be dormant, but that said, it remains my sleeping favorite.
I never knew my love of smooth musical