| "The Jazz Party" 20" x 20" - Pencil on panel Copyright 2007 Dan Stephanian |
| The Jazz Party The Artist threw a Jazz Party for all his most delicious and lovely friends The lights went down, all worries gone The Artist walked in, and the Party was On! Lifting his disc, he waved his latest Jazz Fave, With breathy notes, unbalanced beats and un-square dancing keys A bass, a sax, drums and piano, from a guy named Dave It was blue, it was definitely Rondo, and it took five to four beats. The Sour Berries arrived, low to the ground, sniffin' for the rhythm Spinning that beat in a fine linen stitch Waving their discs, shakin' their leaves, and turning up the heat, Polishing their recordings of Max Roach and Buddy Rich. The Carrots rolled in, tapping like drumsticks, a clear view of festivities They brought Bix, they brought Fats, for all the notes to see, And hear the roots of Jazz and frolic in its cool breeze, Its mathematical genius, its blue all-embracing plea. The Peach has fuzz standing, swaying like wheat fields over her pink belly Doing a dance, a mamba or samba, intoxicating Latin move That Bosa Nova guitar, versus piano, she hands us Pizzerelli She can't look down, her eyes closed and her fuzz in perpetual sway. Melons love bass, they hum the notes in their patch of sleep Rolling and rumbling to Ray Brown, Curly Russell and Percy Heath Each see in the melon, a separate note, from the rind, not a peep The handed us Bird with Ray, Curly with Dizzy, and Percy, Percy, Percy Tomatoes always bring berry berry fine Getz Those round, soft and voluptuous notes, That Brazilian tap, that lover's heat, so easily Stan gets, Makes you move, makes you dream, gives you hope We had to pry the disc from their clinging vines. No surprise, the Rose brought her favorite Ella, She says there is no other, she thinks its God's voice But roses are fickle, watch out fellas Next week she'll be Lena Horne, or a Billie of choice Or maybe she'll be singing Sarah Vaughn, painfully acappella We love her never-the-less, we'll play Rose's disc Because we absolutely love Ella's instrument And Rose brought dessert. The Peas in the Pod, love keys under palm The ivory of Teddy Wilson, Brubeck or Monk The Corn fuels up with Big Band The maize has an ear for Cab, Duke and The Count They twist, fold and bend to their horns, their big sound, Like in the field, so organized yet each bake differently And besides, the Corn Stocks brought the chips. Bananas love singers, like Teagarten, Lester and Nat Cole Those voices peel away their inhibitions, exposing their soft center Always the bright lights of the party, always on the curve, The Butterflies take their tapes and discs, promise to play And keep the Bunches dancing, keep them dressed, they've got a lot of nerve. Hanging around the cold cuts, were Radishes, Turnips and Onions They're naughty hot, bite your tongue, with musical opinions They brought the Modern Jazz Quartet, and swore we'd be moved again With their round bottomed sound, rhythmic yet abstractly grooved again Radishes always bring the freshest salad. Those Hot Peppers stumbled in roasting They only burn with Latin brass, and very sexy dance Always in a plot for hot, flirting and taking a chance Screaming out, burning chops, hot horns, hot lips, They bring the best hot dip. The Apple brought the dancing fingers of Oscar Petersen The Pear likes the fat sound of Benny Goodman, and Glen Miller But the Blue Berries dig Lionel Hampton, a blue good vibe The Lemons brought an old bottle of fine wine blowing like Sidney Bichet The Oranges brought a drink flavored with Harry James' horn, The Poppies brought Bird's bop, with a taste of Coleman Hawkins, Certain un-named Peppers brought a savory distraction like Django Reinhardt And froze the crowd, while the slight hand of Stephane Grapelli Stole their hearts. We played into the evening, singing with Louis and Billie Dancing freely, tapping to Un-Square, falling in love again with Astrud Gilberto The Daisies brought Beatle Jazz, and knew every verse We took five, we Monked, we dueled Dizzy with Marsalis We rocked the stage with Dan Hicks and his Folk Jazz We laughed at his seriousness, marveled at the harmony Gypsy jazz began to flourish, Django notes everywhere Holly Berries crashed the party, adding Artie Shaw and Helen Forrest The Raspberries blushed almost purple, dreaming of High-Cs from Stan Kenton They are all silly berries, and not a sour note amongst them. The Concord Grapes wait patiently for more Folk Jazz The Seedless Reds are anxious for Cool Jazz The leaves don't care as long as they are free to shake to the Bee Bop And as we gathered for our party portrait, One of the Butterflies had to leave early. * * * by Dan Stephanian |