Thursday, 14 July 2011

Jazz at Ronnie's

Nothing Gold can stay.
                                     Robert Frost

 Personalities can die an awful death.  Diminishing down pockets of gold coins.  This is a little reflective and.... I admit, abit indulgent.  Sitting behind the gold banister that seperates the well-behaved seating from the stage, which made you feel captive and far.  Not, I thought, how I remember Ronnie Scott's, when I watched Diana Krall, that first time, perform at this London institution.  Or the Brazilian Bossa Nova collective, that other time or some local jazzman on another night I watched my man.  Losing him to the music and I didn't mind, tapping his fingers on his knee, his heel rocking to the rhythm, swaying his head and eyes demonised by the easy night saxophone:

"The night time does funny things to a man, those Tomcat tendencies you don’t understand........." hissing from the bourbon tongue of Tom Waits.

It used to be extra dark, extra smoky and the floor kinda used to be that kind of joint.  Till Faust in his suit and with his briefcase came, to take the beat away.......

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You might like to read Sticky and Rich and Coachella Cloth


  1. You captured the mood so well with your words, I enjoyed that:):)

  2. Very nicely written!! I'm holding a giveaway today...hope you will visit!

  3. Lovely post, I was right there with your man

  4. Ooh, I want to hear more...more!!

  5. Beautifully written post. And I love the photos you chose! Amazing. :)