Beholder's Eye

Small club in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Jazz is. The wealthy & wealthy spirited absorb songs that neither start nor end. Everyone understands. Form is unnecessary; all appear pleased. All find deep meanings where none exists- why do upright bass players always have long hair?

I sit, writing, observing the tight t-shirted head nodders and ponder pretention. Why does modern art have to be this way? (why is this band obsessed with the minor third)

Maybe they could play anything on this stage, and the crowd would nod knowingly along.

I’m tired.