Scat
Nov 30 2009


I like it, in jazz
when they say “Take it, man”,
handing-off
to guitar, the bass, the brass
the piano, finger-fast,
the melody somehow intact
as they riff and raff and scat
in snazzy suits that snap
of style.

But always coming back
to the line that runs through it,
watching, listening
the feel of the music.
I am amazed at their mastery —
playing by ear, rarely speaking
using a nod, a pause, a wink
to communicate.
So immersed in sound
they are weightless;
their boundaries precariously thin,
effortlessly breathing it in.

And the singer is tall and black
and beautiful,
a class act, nothing cheap or flashy
— the only girl
in an all-boys band.

Everything stops
when she sings
in a voice all smoke and honey,
all soulful sinful amber.
But holding back,
so her restrained power
keeps me on the edge of my seat;
hoping that she’ll let it go,
waiting for release.