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Jazz is not urgent. Jazz is the moment, present. The notes – greens, oranges and blues – vibrate in the warm air, some making their way to low, dark corners of the loud room. Others are lost in the translucidity of a polychord, or a dominant seventh. But, they all, one way or another, make their way to the one who taps the foot – in time. The notes like him and her who tap feet; they are THERE. They aren’t just in the room; they are looking, searching for those notes. To where do they go? What do they mean? They find out, too. But they don’t figure it all out. Jazz can’t be figured out, that’s why some don’t bother to understand it, and why others spend every waking hour of every day, and every dreaming hour of every night, searching, seeking, and understanding.

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