Feeling: musical
Listening to: Hoobastank - Unaffected
Reading/Watching: nothing

I think the birth of jazz also gave birth to an entirely new language.

Yesterday I had my first rehearsal with the new jazz combo, which is the same size as last year, but has different musicians. There's still a drumset, bass guitarist, pianist, tenor sax, trumpet, and euphonium, but they're played by different people.

The director of the group is also different, an old jazz pianist who's locally famous: he played the scene for a couple decades, sharing the stage with some pretty amazing people, and now that I'm in his ensemble, and he's decided I have the potential to be a decent jazz singer (with my whole two semesters of experience, wooo).

Yesterday he pulled me aside, and we went to a practice room to run through the songs I want to work on this semester, as well as sightread a few he has his eye on. He sat down at the piano, his hands barely seeming to touch the keys, while beautiful chords and tumbles came rolling all around me. I sang along as best I could (feeling incurably caucasian), trying to swing, trying to stop being so cautious and sing from my veins, instead of my synapses.

It was the first time he stopped to give me a suggestion that I realized I didn't understand a word he was saying.

"Ey, 'scoo babe, wegodda givid ali'l smthsfjyndkslkthg, yknow'msayin?"

He grinned at me and gestured toward me, and I chose to nod and smile, then tried singing the phrase with a more selective rhythm, instead of what was on the page.

"'Sgood, babe, 'sgood, keepidupinna hyakdjgncmsghgn 'n jus ride it, yknow? 'Czwegonna, wegonna fill it, yknow? Wegonna fill eedgno evr'time, 'n yougodda takrtym, takrtym 'n telssuhlidlstory, yknow, telssuhtngrtoo, yknow'msayin? 'Scrazy, babe, 'scrazy!"

He seemed pleased with me, so I took that as a good sign, and just kept fumbling through the newer parts, playing off wrong notes like they were part of a scat or that I was trying to sing a different part of the chord.

When we finished The Old Country, Goodbye, It Don't Mean a Thing, and Stardust, we headed back to the rest of the group, and listened to them work on Wrinkle in Time and Juicy Lucy.

He then gave directions to the entire group, and I could tell by the expressions on their faces that they caught maybe one word in ten, same as me.

Then, somehow, they picked up their instruments (well, except for the drummer and the pianist), and did exactly what he wanted.

Later I asked the pianist, "How do you know what he's saying?"

He said, "You get used to it."

This is going to be an interesting year.

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