I have no real talents to boast of.
I can’t sing, I can’t draw, I can’t act and I can’t write. I am not an orator, an astute mathematician or a philosopher. I’m not good at making friends, losing friends or being a friend. I am blah.
What I have is a real fake talent. It’s the ability to look cool by being with people who are cool. I can sound intelligent by mimicking the truly intelligent. It appears that I can sing merely because I have learned the lingo: off key, on key, crescendo, diminuendo; flats, sharps; transposition, not modulation … I am a sponge. I am beautiful and great and strong and the minions look at me in awe and I need to wake up from this delusion …
It turns out that I am losing that one ‘talent’ unfortunately. A week ago, I watched the Ryan Cohan Jazz Quartet in concert at Club Obbligato in Kampala. I’ve told everyone who has had the misfortune of listening to me about the show. I’ve been saying the right things, borrowed things nonetheless, but the right things.
I’ve told of the intensity, emotion, dynamic and in-the-moment playing of the quartet. That Ryan Cohan is very much in demand as a pianist, composer and arranger and that he has performed with the very best: Kurt Elling, Curtis Fuller, Regina Carter. That he is sensitive in the way he touches the piano and the way he allows his instrument to resonate his is greatest asset, bringing to mind greats like Ahmad Jamal and Oscar Peterson.
No one has been impressed. Absolutely no one. I don’t know why. It has worked before. I swear it has. In May last year it even got me kissed by a handsome, sexy Whatnot in a cozy, smoking Copenhagen jazz bar.
Here’s my last attempt at grandeur.
In case you are a real Jazz Head, there are a couple of really good jazz blogs at Jazz FM.Com (my personal favorite and the archived shows are great), the Jazz and Blues Lounge, Smooth Jazz Blog and Jazz Animated.