BY Richard Trew (Journeyman) of Abstract Word
© Copyright 1992
for ukvibe issue 17 1996
Charlie Mingus and those nimble fingers, Thelonius Monk all fingers and thumbs, Charlie Parker all fingers and ears hearing notes that no others hear. And John Coltrane with more fingers than most he’s the one all the clones love to toast.
And through the night Art Blakey comes bringing to call his messenger sons, sending us messages through those drums. And blues singers standing on down town street corners sayin’ ‘there ain’t no else place I’d rather be’ what he means is the whiskey makes him happy. ‘I’d rather be here than any place I know’ what he means he has no else place to go. All he wants to do is weather the storm while the whiskey keeps his inside warm.
And soul sisters who sing and cry for free ‘Oh preacher man, preacher man please let me be’. And waiters who hover at the petit bourgeois cocktail party eavesdropping on conversations between uncle and auntie.
She’s at the to-do, she’s all au fait, he’s so cool he listens to Miles Davies and Lady Day. And from uptown Apollo Dizzy blows his horn and in the land a new style is born. Chester Himes says, black boy with shiney face wants to drive taxi cab off the edge of the mother raping earth. he’s down on heroin…Bitch’
And white girls says ‘boy you brothers play really funky’ all know she’s a groupie and with me she wants to be, can’t be with me girl till they set my people free. Then Yusef Lateef lets his saxophone wail and the cats go in pursuit of the 13th scale and brothers cry out ‘Who put James Brown in jail?’
This ain’t no romance it’s not the last dance, could be avant grade or maybe just a renaissance. White boy says ‘I wanna be a singer in a reggae band play rockers on the bandstand, put skin to my man, don’t call me no honkey I don’t know about Uncle Sam don’t you know I’m a big time Marley fan, cha’ I can even chat like a Jamaican!’
Soul brothers reaching up to higher astrological plains for their knowledge, one should not concern themselves with the insanities perpetrated in the name of Christ or the simple fallen nature of man, one chooses as one sees fit.
And the brothers are too deeply spiritual to doubt that the Father, the inner ‘I’ will provide for all they needs – this includes the sweetest smoking sensemilla this side of Eden.
Phoney politicians military arms race, phoney world leaders you’re gonna sink without a trace, slow down warmonger ‘cos you’re running at the wrong pace ‘cos it’s blessings for the children, even if they sneeze and its out of place.