A friend forwarded this magical video to me the other day. So I took a break from my hardcore to have a listen. It made me smile. I’m not a jazz fan but this one nabs me with its simplicity. It’s called “Be Good.” I love the way Gregory Porter’s dressed. This whole video — it’s so me! — as my friend pointed out.
A jazz trio played in the garden where I work. They were the real deal, not one of those easy listening, ersatz jazz groups you hear in elevators and hospital waiting rooms. I’m not a jazz fan but the few pieces I like are hard core and abstract. I went home and tried out some jazz on Pandora. I inserted a Theolonius Monk station right above my Obituary death metal station. I listened for a few minutes before inserting a John Coltrane station right underneath that. I listened to that for a bit. Nah.
I felt like a pretentious bourgeois wannabe listening to it. Ironic since this music started out as edgy and was created by oppressed black people. I relate to death metal more than I do to jazz. I get the feeling that some people listen to it because they think it’s what sophisticated, intellectual, or middle-class people of a certain age are supposed to listen to. I know there are genuine enthusiasts but I wonder about the rest. I appreciate the great jazz artists, but these days I think a lot of people attach it to the complacency of the “good life,” while it used to be associated with the avant-garde and artists or people who were on the edge. I don’t want to get into politics so I won’t elaborate on what I think is wrong with the concept of the “good life.” People can create a cocoon for a moment in time but there’s always some threat hovering over it.
As a black person, dirty road house blues music does it for me. It’s the music I relate to. These people remind me that the good life is a fucking illusion. It reminds me of my forefathers in the strain and toil of the cotton fields. I appreciate the beauty in every group. I just love the pathos of being black and I appreciate being part of the African Diaspora. So my rejection of jazz for the most part has nothing to do with me denying part of my heritage or whatever.
Life is life and sometimes while life is being life you still have to do shit you don’t want to do, like dishes, laundry, vacuuming. There are job decisions I have to make. And at my age it’s scary, but I don’t have any choice. As soon as I finish reading the proof copy of my book I have to get on with this task. This is why I’m moving slowly as I alluded to in previous posts. I’m afraid of what’s on the other side. And oy gevalt — I have oral surgery issues! Though I have insurance it still means more pain and more money. It’s overwhelming. So, to aid me in my day to day tasks when it gets rancid, I listen to my death metal station on Pandora as I wash dishes, throwing them from the sink to the dish rack, angrily. The music makes me feel like I’m not alone in my existential mire. I’m not always like this, but, hmmm…. I wonder. Maybe I’m just angry because the people who run the good life won’t let me in. Eh?
There’s a woman I see on the bus when I come home from work. She smiles constantly – a subtle, creepy smile — even when she’s sitting alone. I heard her say something bitter with that smile on her face. “What’s wrong with people? Why don’t people move to the back of the bus when it’s crowded? That’s what you’re supposed to do!” She waved her hand indignantly, before smiling again with a slightly glazed look in her eyes. “I knew it!” I said to myself. The smile was an affectation. I thought, maybe it covers up negative feelings that she can’t face; maybe her parents told her that she should never show anger — to always be nice. Perhaps they told her that she had to smile otherwise people wouldn’t like her.
It turned out that this woman and I knew the same person, a nice Jamaican woman whom I met on the bus. I approached the bus stop one day and the smiley-creepy-lady and nice Jamaican woman were there. The Jamaican woman introduced us. “Hi,” I said, planning never to say hi to her again. I’ve seen her quite a few times since. I look away or turn my head in the other direction when I’m sitting on the bus and she walks by. I fantasize that she thinks I hate her, that she thinks I’m a snob, that she thinks I think something’s wrong with her, that she thinks I think I’m better than her. I fantasize that she’s desperate for people to like her. Ha ha ha – what fun for me! She’s someone I have an aversion to. I don’t like her. She sits very straight, and wears plain clothes, drab colors – with that smile the whole time.
Too bad for this lady because I read in a zen book once that when we get mischievous thoughts, we shouldn’t freak out and try to suppress them (These were not the exact words.). The book said that we should accept the thoughts, to let them come in then let them go out, because it’s who we are and we can’t escape it. We have that side to us no matter how hard we try to cover up the stench. The writer said also – I’m paraphrasing – that sometimes it’s healthy to act out a little mischief. I suppose as long as it’s not evil. I’m not going to look at the book to make sure that I’ve paraphrased correctly, because I really like the definition I just quoted. What if I’m not remembering it correctly? I don’t want my belief of what the reading was about to be shattered – so there.
This smiling woman was forcing a countenance which made me uneasy. I think that this is the same as me listening to music generally thought of as uplifting merely because it is a common belief that it would lift a person’s mood. Perhaps I would listen to a song like the one below, which is really really good by the way – Mahavishnu rocks! But believing that I should force myself to be ‘lifted’ from a mood by listening to a type of music that is commonly thought of as uplifting is supporting a false idea. The song below has the mantra, ‘Let me fulfill thy will. Oh lord supreme, supreme. Let me fulfill thy will.” It’s a kickass song and I’m not dissing it – I’m just using it as a palatable example because I think inserting an actual Jesus Lordy Lordy gospel song would be too extreme and distracting from my point. I could easily listen to this song with these lyrics and imagine that I’m merging with the idea, “Oh lord supreme, supreme,” and that I should release myself unto this vibration for an all around harmonious rest of the day. But I would listen to a nice song like this and feel murderous, absolute angst, fear and self-loathing after going to work and confronting a reality that only required me to take a really deep look at myself in order to iron things out, instead of trying to escape my mood with some superficial means, or forced method.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4K1VxNg9Bc
Really what I might feel inside is this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sem_3Gm3n48
I listen to this and feel invigorated, relieved of the feelings that the mood of the song mirrors. I’m in touch with the reality of the anger and pain that I’m feeling. I’m not smothering it. I’m not going to church on Sunday and on the way home in the car suffering bouts of road rage, or gossiping or judging people on what I believe to be inappropriate based on what “God” told me. I’m looking at me, the reality of me and a wild, imperfect, confounding life .
1800ukillme 