Tuesday, November 15, 2005


Bad jazz

I'm not a big fan of jazz music: I like proper songs with proper chords, not C major with a crappy ambiguous 7th. Commit yourself to a chord, jazz boy. Three damn notes. Grow some testicles. (I particularly don't like the jargon- it's very difficult to come up with a authentic-sounding immitation for purposes of satire.)

Not only is my new flatmate, Jamie, a jazz musician: the two friends he has staying at the apartment tonight are also jazz musicians. Jazz musicians on tour, to be precise.

I have visions of these musical pariahs staying up until the wee small hours, playing non-commital chord progressions on the guitar and name-dropping (mercifully) obscure saxophonists.

Example of how detached from reality these people are: with the aeroplane duty-free trolley at their mercy and an embarassment of riches to choose from, the whisky they plumped for was Johnny Walker Red Label.

Seriously, what the fuck.

Obviously not true Jazz musicians.

True Jazz musicians don't drink much. They are too busy getting stuck in to their hefty smack addictions.

Give them this message from me please.


Yours delightedly,

Lewis Holmes. Country guitarist.
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