montecristo

It's twilight now, on the West Coast, and I'm sitting here listening to Carole King pour out "Jazzman" on my ears. Damn, but that is a kick-ass oldie, and I love that woman's voice. I've always loved that song. I'm feeling pretty damned good this evening. Tunes like this make me wish I'd not stopped playing my sax when I started high school. I feel like wailin' along with Carole, but I've probably forgotten too much to pick it up without lots of practice, and I know my lips would look like a life-preserver within five minutes of sticking a reed in my mouth. It's Friday; the sunset was beautiful; I've had various messages from friends from whom I love to hear; I'm contemplating some frozen pizza for dinner; Robert, Tom, and I spoke with someone at lunch yesterday who is interested in funding us and may have the wherewithal to actually invest in McGuffin in a couple of months. I don't know...I am just UP tonight.

I have so much I need to do, but I am having such a powerful urge to just get out of my house right now. Here's my fantasy: I want to load up my camera with film, grab some CD's with jazz and good road tunes on them, get into a convertible and drive over to the coast. I want to cruise up the Pacific Coast Highway (Dramamine Drive) and shoot pictures and stop at various beaches. I know what it is. It's that time of year. This is the time my family used to go over to the coast and mess around in the parks and at the beaches. Gah, I haven't been in more than a year, I think. The ex's birthday is early next month and we spent a couple of her birthdays camping at Salt Point State Park. She made dump-cake in a pot over the campfire. I love those cool Pacific Coast nights and warm days at the shore. I kept a paper journal in a note tablet the last time we went, and I took pictures. I'm tempted to upload the pictures and transcribe the notebook entries to back-dated LJ posts. I am just so tempted to blow off the weekend and the gas I really shouldn't spend and just DO IT. I love this damned state. I was born in Ohio, and I love the Midwest too -- the heartland is where most of my family lives, and it's a wonderful place, especially for a kid to grow up -- but California has always been the home of my soul. Damn, now I've got to go fix myself some pizza and download Jeff Lorber: "Pacific Coast Highway".

Jazzman
Carole King

Lift me, won't you lift me above the old routine;
Make it nice, play it clean, Jazzman.

1. When the jazzman's testifyin' a faithless man believes
He can sing you into paradise or bring you to your knees.
It's a gospel kind of feelin', a touch of Georgia slide,
A song of pure revival and a style that's sanctified.

Jazzman take my blues away; make my pain
The same as yours with every change you play.
Jazzman, oh Jazzman.

2. When the jazzman's signifyin', and the band is windin' low.
It's the late night side of morning in the darkness of his soul.
He can fill a room with sadness as he fills his horn with tears.
He can cry like a fallen angel when risin' time is near.

Jazzman, take my blues away; make my pain
The same as yours with every change you play.
Oh lift me, won't you lift me with ev'ry turn around.
Play it sweetly, take me down, oh Jazzman