Little Jazz Guitars

"Jazz" has always interested me. The term connotates: "improvisation upon a central theme." Nothing more nor less. My Dad was a Jazz Musician. My Stepfather(s). Yes, I drew to an inside straight and ended up with two Stepfathers. "Good, Bad and Ugly," to be sure. Anyway, one a VERY GOOD reed player and the other a keyboard and percussion Guy. United States Navy Guys. A house full of Jazz. Then #2 bought me my first guitar, a GIGANTIC Kaye Jumbo Twin F-Hole Western body bass. It was named: "Thud." Because, that's what it did well. No soloing, no melodic passages, no timbre or nuance. Just: "Thud."

It took me about 6 months to leave it unguarded in the High School Band Room. I nearly throttled the Pissant that tried to "liberate Thud." He was a Turd Amongst Men anyway. A squirrel turd in the reefer brownie mix. His last name even resembled the word: "Turd." I shall not divulge his true identity. One of the edicts of this here blog-thang. He was voted (by other Turds) as "Most Likely To Become Famous" in my High School Senior Annual. I was on that Staff. I wanted to crucify The Turd. Not a good Journalistic etho. I was (and still am) "all about the 4 w's." Yes, this blog is Editorial in nature but, that's because I'm not "reporting." Shit, it's not even Editorial. It's a rambling series of vague remembrances and recollections, designed mostly to amuse myself and keep my fingers from rotting away and my brain nimble.

"Rotsa' Ruck." Some Navy Guys might say that and have.

Anyway..."Jazz." Why does it matter and why is it "fun?" The answer is simple: "Because there are no rules."

 It's like a darkened Playhouse full of all the girls you wanted to make out with when you were 16 and nobody sees ya' doin' the so-called "Gangly Ones" that had some quirky beauty that nobody else noticed. My Wife was an Ugly Duckling kind of Gal. Like Karl Malden got into a bar fight with a Pirate's Dream. Well, not exactly but, she was "flat as a board" until she got some Seaman in her. Awful pun. Intentional. She became more and more beautiful as the years passed. Jazz. She just needed some rehearsal time.

Me? I don't "play" Jazz. I "Am Jazz." To paraphrase Salvatore Dali. But, he was talking about drugs, which was/is part of "Jazz" too. "Out of Self And Into The Fire." Pointy Tail, Horns And All. Turn it loose. Let 'er BUCK! We can shorten Andy Warhol's time frame to eight seconds at this juncture.

This kind of shit makes me want to own a Parker Nitefly with onboard COSM and Fishman USB interface. I am currently content with my '57 Les Paul Junior copy (Epiphone Custom Shop, Korea, TV Yellow, P-100) and '60 Magnatone Lap Steel. I may off the L.P Jr. for a Parker, if sufficiently persuaded. Any takers?

Check out this Mug:

One of those Berklee Guys. Student, then, Teacher. Shredding his ass off. Yes, it's "Jazz." Because: "No rules, all bets are off."

Another side of the same Guy:

http://youtu.be/IVhggQCqvqI?list=PLF79E2411FCC21739 (the video link doesn't copy)

Good Afternoon,
-Doc