And all that jazz...
Jun. 13th, 2003 10:58 amSummer in Montreal, to me, means Jazz. It means walking down Ste-Catherine's and dying from the heat, buying a bottle of Pepsi just for the chill as you hold it across the back of your neck, and then venturing into a crowd of equally hot, sweaty people to dance and sing or just stand there and dig someone's blues. Summer in Montreal is music.
But the Jazz fest hasn't started yet. I'm driving home last night from rehearsal through my (comparitively) dinky suburb, and one of the streets is blocked off, so I park the car, grab my costume cape because it's started to cool off, and mosey on over. There's a trumpet wailing somewhere, and I arrive at the St-Bruno version of the Jazz Fest. Apparently there's one every year. You'd think I'd have found out by now...
It was beautiful. I really hate jazz when it's recorded, but I love it live, love it when it changes. Jazz should not be the same thing every time. (In this case, I mute it when it's immutable, and turn it up when it's mutable!) The band playing described themselves as 'country-jazz-blues a la Louis Armstrong', and by golly, they WERE. The band that played while the main band were on break was good, too, and sang everything from the Beatles to Blink-182. (An' H'I never dance wid anudder, since H'I saw 'er standing dere!). The singer was not the best singer I've ever heard, but he played guitar like nobody's business.
I sat there under the stars with a hundred-and-fifty-odd folks, eating ice-cream and listening, and then disappeared off into the night when it was over, cape flapping in the wind (it looked right cool, if I do say so myself.)
I love moments like that.
But the Jazz fest hasn't started yet. I'm driving home last night from rehearsal through my (comparitively) dinky suburb, and one of the streets is blocked off, so I park the car, grab my costume cape because it's started to cool off, and mosey on over. There's a trumpet wailing somewhere, and I arrive at the St-Bruno version of the Jazz Fest. Apparently there's one every year. You'd think I'd have found out by now...
It was beautiful. I really hate jazz when it's recorded, but I love it live, love it when it changes. Jazz should not be the same thing every time. (In this case, I mute it when it's immutable, and turn it up when it's mutable!) The band playing described themselves as 'country-jazz-blues a la Louis Armstrong', and by golly, they WERE. The band that played while the main band were on break was good, too, and sang everything from the Beatles to Blink-182. (An' H'I never dance wid anudder, since H'I saw 'er standing dere!). The singer was not the best singer I've ever heard, but he played guitar like nobody's business.
I sat there under the stars with a hundred-and-fifty-odd folks, eating ice-cream and listening, and then disappeared off into the night when it was over, cape flapping in the wind (it looked right cool, if I do say so myself.)
I love moments like that.