Free Write Friday ~ “My Year of Living Improvisationally.” Feat. Excerpts from Prelude to a Memoir Proposal ~ “Breaking Sounds” ~ Dizzy Gillespie performing Shadow of Your Smile with MJFO 1965.


"Jazz Box" Collage by Jazzybeatchick
Jazz Box” Collage by Jazzybeatchick

The Call:

The fog from PTSD of the  traumas in my life has lifted.  I had forgotten that major events like cancer, death from cancer, the death of my father, a neuropathy and mom’s death over time is cumulative.  It obnubilates living in the present moment.  Those moments expanded into thirteen years.  The Sound I Felt: Improvisations on Life.   Writing and listening to the sounds – jazzier and more; going to the beach; and daily life has evoked memories from 1965.   I didn’t know how to piece a narrative together.  Dramatic events.  Elusive missives and musings.  On frequent occasions only timbre or sound.  I didn’t write about the most traumatic experience, my mom’s death over this past decade.  I want to know why?  Now these past events are giving me the courage to transform my life.  Today marks the beginning of a new journey using improvisation and living creatively using conversations, quotes, literary and collage art and  participating in community literary and visual arts.programs in Oakland, CA.

Now thirteen years later, those consequences inspired me to start Fifty Shades of Jazz| Living Improvisationally | A,  a personal blog in 20014.  The unexpected utterances have liberated me from feeling hostage by the sum total of those traumatic experiences.  The dwelling on loss seems utterly self indulgent and toxic – actually it is, if it consumes all of your thoughts.   Now I am able to embrace those disorienting years through my poetry and accepting the mind’s selective entities.  I want to place individuals and communities especially those that  healed and were amazing and those times when not, strictly for holistic purposes.

Note:  I selected this track of my father’s cd because it celebrates the Men From Monterey and the launching of my creative life inspired by Gil Fuller (my dad), Ralph J. Gleason (muse) and Dizzy Gillespie (comic relief).

Yesterday I watched Joe Albany… A Jazz Life- 1980 Complete 60 min. Feature Documentary Film and Sepia Cinderella (1947) which brought back centering memories on growing up in jazz as a writer, poet and collage artist.  I plan to watch Blue Note: A Story of Modern Jazz.  Jazz documentaries bring back my fondest memories from  my year of musical thinking that began February of 1965 with the Monterey Jazz Festival , my father, Gil Fuller was the Music Director featuring Dizzy Gillespie, James Moody and the MJF Orchestra.  At the end of that rehearsal I learned the importance of hearing music at rehearsals, especially the final one.

I was eleven years old at the final rehearsal before the live performance when I met Mr. Ralph J. Gleason founder of Rolling Stone magazine.  I knew absolutely nothing about Ralph J. Gleason nor how meeting him transformed and inspired my literary and collage arts took flight.  It was the final rehearsal at the studio behind the sound stage….

“You were, he thought, accountable to those who formed you; it was your responsibility, especially if you were a writer with the chance to reach others, to honor those who had mattered, who had made a difference in how you or your readers lived their lives. Ralph was the most honorable man I have known. Some who did not know him will perhaps find such a claim excessive or too “emotional.” Those who did know him well will recognize it as a simple statement of fact.”The rehearsal was now under way, it became an invitation to my imagination renewing my love for writing – cultivating a joy deep in my heart.

But there was a time, not that long ago, when there were only a few and they all knew each other. Today’s pop music critics, who cut their teeth on Pearl Jam and Nirvana, will never have the chance to leave behind a legacy like Gleason’s. In an age of the information superhighway and media overload, the era of E! Television and Entertainment Weekly, how do you explain one lone writer working for a daily newspaper in a provincial backwater changing music history? But it was never easy to explain Gleason, even when he was alive.  Greil Marcus. Ibid

From the moment I met Ralph J. Gleason  and after that 1st meeting @ the final rehearsal  inspired me to pursue my dream to write.  In a lot of ways I have always been before my time, maybe it was because I began to read at three years old.  I credit mom for that.  Every chance I got when I was five years old I would read books from the library dad and converted  to a den.  I read Jung and secretly started writing in my journal poetry and doing collages in sync with what dad was composing on the  Steinway Grand piano in our downstairs livingroom.  I fell in love with words and reading things aloud to my mom.  I began to explore who I really was.  Dad did not encourage me to function as a creatively independent woman. I guess he thought I would have plenty of time to be independent and a woman.  During that time I would get frustrated and somewhat confused with the mixed messages I was getting from him. I knew what the clan wanted; I learned how to fit into the tribe and not make waves otherwise I could possibly lose my father’s love or be ostracized.  I grew to be afraid of being abandoned.  I couldn’t connect to my inner self and embrace solitude much less how to be a free individual.  What I did learn when I was with Dad at rehearsals was the musicians exhibited a fierce respect for their own creativity as well as respect and the creativity of the other musicians; I learned about the musicians and the families that I sat with and inadvertently learned about myself,

I began to explore who I really was.  Dad did not encourage me to function as a creatively independent woman. I guess he thought I would have plenty of time to be independent and a woman.  During that time I would get frustrated and somewhat confused with the mixed messages I was getting from him. I knew what the he wanted.  To keep the peace, I learned how to fit into the my dad’s wishes and not make waves.  Otherwise, I could possibly lose my father’s love or be ostracized.  I grew to be afraid of being abandoned.  I couldn’t connect to my inner self and embrace solitude much less how to be a free individual.  What I did learn when I was with Dad at rehearsals was the musicians exhibited a fierce respect for their own creativity as well as respect and the creativity of the other musicians; I learned about jazz life through musicians and their families, Gleason, my mom, dad… that I at the end of the day –I learned about myself,

My Response:

Do you remember1965?  It was early spring and you received a call from Jimmy Lyons one of the Promoters for the Monterey Jazz Festival.  You accepted the position for the MJFO and We were sitting in that Ford Torino station wagon that you constantly called it a pig of a car,  You hated that car.  We were going to Benny’s CantoneseWhen I close my eyes in the Parking lot at Azuma’s on Wilshire Blvd. “Dad, you created a phenomenal year for Jazz music from Monterey to the opening of the Music Center in L.A., …


Grace Notes to My Father

by Jannat Marie




I learned that timing is the secret to living a jazz improvised life,

Knowing when to stop, to start, to step it up,  to slow it down but oh

so important is learning how to wait thru the strife.

Jazz harmony is the theory and practice of changing

dominant and tonic chords of life,

where major and minor share the same syncopated space

in a timeless bond…

Progressions depart in thirds and stacked fourths

favoring harmonic progressions where tensions are in intervals that resound




I learned that searching for meaning, or intentions and having the blues

is about finding your truth and grace found in a life of humility

coz the universe is mistin’ the air with valuable scented truths

Improvisation is the essence of living in a tranquil and joyous place

where cadence and notes become window dressing that is a façade

pierced by listening to the spoken word filled with harmonic intent

of the path and choices you debate.

Play it slant is the message best heard in the evening.




I learned that being different is the integral part of the master plan

Leaning in and seeing how high you can reach

The harmonies in real-time, flowing and ebbing

an improvisational context is the lessons you will teach.

I learned that playing jazz has four elements

broadening your words and expressing every letter

in a charismatic way to enhance

finding your intentions and mixing all of them together —

where freedom and coordination learn how to really dance.

Jazz has the power to go deep within,

having a relationship with you as next of kin

Transforming arrogance into the love of sound on the page.


I have been saved by jazz and words from above

healing my soul and body from within

thru life’s trials and tribulations

finding peace on earth that is filled with

the promise of words and life dancing with joyous jubilation

in our wake!

A Love so Supreme….Your Daughter

I found myself  on May 8th, 2015 without a place to call home.  For over a decade dealing with all of the post traumatic events in my life, year after year it was not a real place and I didn’t want to go there.  Today feeling like I had to summon up the courage to live a fuller, improvised life by learning from the grace noted memories that have been revisiting me on a frequent basis lately.  It has given me a new lease on transforming my life  to finish writing The Sound I Felt.  I am looking to work for a non-profit part-time re-connecting me with the creative community.  I love to read and write after meeting Ralph J. Gleason in 1965 how he transformed my life by using quotes and prose taking us on an incredible audiovisual journey, Starting today, I am going to write about  those scented and ornamented grace notes and wisdom from Gleason, my mom and dad and the cast of characters that have affected my life. This new series for 2016  is entitled “My Year of Living Improvisationally.”  Welcome, Peace & Love Out!  JBC 😎 & >3!

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

Copyright © 2011-2016 by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick/Jazaenista. All rights Reserved.

This material has been copyrighted, feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks or added to websites; please do not change the original content and please provide appropriate credit by including the author’s name or visual artist @ http://jazzybeatchick.com your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


Free Write Friday ~ A Boomer Remembers the Sounds of Living in the Moment with Bob Kaufman’s ” O-Jazz-O War Memoir” featuring Beatles & Jazz – In My Life

Texture Abstract Jazz Art Paintings Courtesy of bits_r_us.net
Texture Abstract Jazz Art Paintings Courtesy of bits_r_us.net

Music would take over at the point at which words become powerless, with the one and only object of expressing that which nothing but music could express. Debussy

February 26th

Today it appears that spring has sprung.  A warm glow piercing through my window cradling the chill from last evening.  Jung wrote:  “The serious problems in life are never fully solved.  If ever they should appear to be so it is a sure sign that something has been lost.  The meaning and purpose of a problem seem to lie not in the solution but in our working at it incessantly.  This alone preserves us from stultification and putrefaction.”  The San Francisco Bay area is plagued with Homelessness.  I know a thing or two about that because things went totally and literally south last May when I gave up my spacious one bedroom apartment in a lovely community off of Puget Sound in Seattle.  I wasn’t running from anything, rather, I was running for the life that was waiting for me.  Now when I look back, I would have hoped that I could find a place, not like a shelter where I would be able to actualize my dream.  But my dream to write and to help others to overcome adversities like money and a place to live where my dreams can come to life and in accordance with God’s plan for all of us.

So to this end it is only natural that at the tender age of eleven, I had fallen in love with jazz sound and words.  Jazz poetry is the best of both worlds for me.  I have discovered that there ain’t nothin’ in this world I could ask God to give me than the gift of translating notes into words.  Take the shape of a life lived in full measure.  Of course, with that gift I had to face the perfect storms of life and after all that is played and done, a glorious experience and sense of timing.  The art of knowing when to..stop, start, slow it down, staccato and rests carefully placed on the canvas of life.  That knowing has left me craving peace and serenity and knowing deep down to the souls of my heart that the joy comes when we wait.  Waiting is the first born of jazz poetry.

Exploring mindfulness meditations and conversations that give the soul the full acoustic literary dose of memories, dreams, inspiration that expands and awakens the mysterious source of living the life that is waiting for us….  Today I want to take a closer look at Bob Kaufman and unleash the scores of wisdom and insight.  I paired Beatle Jazz with sounds that are a reflection of growing up.  If it were not for the life riff jeering, circumstances filled with timbres that were flat or that shrilled to a thrilling vibrato that casted notes penetrating rhythms of stride that were both arbitrary in nature and where drummers paid homage to the cultural rage and chaos of the streets giving a steady ebb and flow of memory syncopation of tradition with ambient sounds marred by the blue mood of hard times that stirred like a river of notes ornamenting the riots deep and knapped within that scrambled new rhythms and tonal alliterations that struggled against the personal entropy that was disoriented by High Society and an acceptability of just being different.  The battle continues to rage between faux and real, inspiration and economic oppression and to actualize a life that understands human pain and is able to transcend it’s ravages became a snap shot of learning by living from my father and my mother because they have made this all possible…Peace & Love Out!  JBC 8-)♥ (Excerpt from The Sound I Felt”)

Poet Jack Micheline said about Kaufman, “I found his work to be essentially improvisational, and was at its best when accompanied by a jazz musician. His technique resembled that of the surreal school of poets, ranging from a powerful, visionary lyricism of satirical, near Dadaistic leanings, to the more prophetic tone that can be found in his political poems.


O-Jazz-O War Memoir: Jazz, Don’t Listen To It At Your Own Risk

by  Bob Kaufman

In the beginning, in the wet

Warm dark place,

Straining to break out, clawing at strange cables

Hearing her screams, laughing

Later we forgave ourselves, we didn’t know”

Some secret jazz

Shouted, wait, don’t go.

Impatient, we came running, innocent

Laughing blobs of blood & faith.

To this mother, father world

Where laughter seems out of place

So we learned to cry, pleased

They pronounce human.

The secret Jazz blew a sigh

Some familiar sound shouted wait

Some are evil, some will hate.

“Just Jazz, blowing its top again”

So we rushed & laughed.

As we pushed & grabbed

While jazz blew in the night

Suddenly they were too busy to hear a simple sound

They were busy shoving mud in men’s mouths,

Who were busy dying on the living ground

Busy earning medals, for killing children on deserted street corners

Occupying their fathers, raping their mothers, busy humans we

Busy burning Japanese in atomicolorcinemascope

With stereophonic screams,

What one hundred per cent red blooded savage, would waste precious


Listening to jazz, with so many important things going on

But even the fittest murderers must rest

So they sat down in our blood soaked garments,

and listened to jazz

lost, steeped in all our death dreams

They were shocked at the sound of life, long gone from our own

They were indignant at the whistling, thinking, singing, beating,


They wept for it, hugged, kissed it, loved it, joined it, we drank it,

Smoked it, ate with it, slept with it

They made our girls wear it for lovemaking

Instead of silly lace gowns,

Now in those terrible moments, when the dark memories come

The secret moments to which we admit no one

When guiltily we crawl back in time, reaching away from ourselves

They hear a familiar sound,

Jazz, scratching, digging, blueing, swinging jazz,

And listen,

And feel, & die.

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

© Copyright  2011-2016 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All Rights Reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  Feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks and added to websites; please do not change the content, and please provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


Tell It Slant Tuesday ~ an Improvised Mindfulness Meditation ~ Sounds In the Wind – First Love featuring a Video Snap ~ 10 Minute Loving Kindness Meditation – New Mindful Life

Lovers_embrace Courtesy of themindfulnessclinic.ca
Lovers_embrace Courtesy of themindfulnessclinic.ca

Sounds In the Wind

First Love

By Jannat Marie

The first muted note

That caresses your face

A dream that spoke

Beating in a syncopated space

Covering your heart’s sacred place.


Discordant suffocating breath

Ravaging the spirits with ornamented ghost notes of death

This is the choice and the sphere

Wild dancing kicks through fears.


This is the song’s laconic ennui

Nestled close to the quick

Evaporating and setting you free

Scented riffs that do the trick

Through sounds tortuous licks.


Sounds of a child’s love that pleases

Lingering in your ears

Making you do anything with ease

Choreographed an improvised life, replacing fear

Remembering the first sounds of love always appear.


Published on Oct 7, 2013

This guided mindfulness meditation helps to cultivate gratitude and present moment awareness.

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

© Copyright  2011-2016 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All Rights Reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  Feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks and added to websites; please do not change the content, and please provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


Free Write Friday ~ How Women R Makin’ Waves and Breakin’ Free ~ HerStory featuring a video snap of “All About That Bass – Postmodern Jukebox European Tour Version”

Les Ballets Jazz De Montreal Courtesy of nac_cna.ca
Les Ballets Jazz De Montreal Courtesy of nac_cna.ca

Gender discrimination and gender segregation have posed considerable barriers to women’s musical talent. Still, many women musicians around the world challenge traditionally held beliefs about gender and women’s social status simply by playing a certain instrument or singing a certain song.”  Smithsonian Folkways Magazine

I wanted to feature some of the Phenomenal Women who have influenced, nurtured and continue to be inspirational in my life, since the 60’s when civil rights was not solely relegated to race.  Mom was my role model.  My BFF and beside the fact that she was the “best mom”; it’s because she was an educator who believed and promoted multiethnic and gender culturalism that would also include women  in order to successfully provide the catalyst for assimilation into American Life.  That meant not to segregate, but to incorporate where we all would learn about diversity and to respect and appreciate one another.  The air was so emotionally charged with racism that being “mixed race” was difficult for me to feel comfortable and fit in.  My father, forced to deal racism in the jazz world, chose not make waves by including women musicians not because of their abilities, it was because he succumbed to the insuperable chauvinism and that was steeped in the jazz tradition because he felt it would’ve made the situation worse on both fronts.  Neither agenda survived!  The decade was phenomenal in terms of growing up.  I was right in the think of it and although the 60’s decade changed the face of America’s civil and cultural revolution, 1965 was “My Year of Musical Thinking” when I fell in love with Jazz, the sound of words and modern art making it the most transformative and phenomenal year of my life. It is my frame of reference. It became my cultural compass where diversity was a substrate in every conceivable direction.

Blues Jazz Piano Courtesy freejazzlessons.com
Blues Jazz Piano Courtesy freejazzlessons.com

Comments like “She’s not supposed to play like that! And “She plays like a man” were epithets that have been uttered throughout the early life of jazz when describing women musicians at the turn of the 20th Century.  Sex discrimination, segregation and tradition have been the foremost barriers that impacted women’s musical talent and ability to perform. Still, many women musicians around the world continue to challenge and transform traditionally held beliefs about gender and women’s social status simply by playing the piano or guitar or performing a certain song.  Additionally, songwriting was something that also fell into the fray as well.

Carla Bley
Carla Bley

Bley was born in Oakland, California. Her father, a piano teacher and church choirmaster, encouraged her to sing and to learn to play the piano. After giving up the church to immerse herself in roller skating at the age of fourteen,[1] she moved to New York at seventeen and became a cigarette girl at Birdland, where she met jazz pianist Paul Bley, whom she married in 1957.[2] He encouraged her to start composing.  Courtesy of Wikipedia.

The battle of the sexes challenged the socially and culturally functioned under the assumption that men are superior to women.  Ironically, this did not apply to women musicians. Those beliefs infiltrated medicine; science and the Arts & Entertainment world, respectively.  The line in the sand of equality between men and women has become smudged because those differences lost ground at the beginning of the 20th century.  In the 60’s racial and gender differences were a celebration of those differences. In some circles of society, politically correct thinking began obscuring and diminishing those differences.   What do you think?  Peace Out! 😎 ♥

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

© Copyright  2011-2016 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All Rights Reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  Feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks and added to websites; please do not change the content, and please provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


Tell It Slant Tuesday ~ Call & Response A Jazz Meditation on a Poetic Beat featuring a video snap of Level 3 Call and Response Patterns (6 Notes) – Jazz Improvisation

REGINA_CARTER Courtesy of americanjazzmuseum.org
REGINA_CARTER Courtesy of americanjazzmuseum.org


In music, a call and response is a sequence beats or musical notes played by different musicians, where the second sequence of beats or musical notes is heard as a direct commentary on (response) to the first. It corresponds to the call-and-response pattern in human conversation and is found as a basic element of musical form, such as verse-chorus form, in many traditions.

In the Sub-Saharan African cultures, call and response is a pervasive pattern in public gatherings  with respect to civic affairs in addition to in religious rituals and vocal and instrumental musical expression.   Notably, in African-American music it is prevelant

in a myriad of forms i.e.: gospelbluesrhythm and bluesrock and rolljazz and hip hop.  I love it when a characteristic of jazz, sound and words can evoke so much imagination and passion.  This is the highest form of mindfulness meditation and sound that is a blessing to my life.  Peace Out!  JBC 😎 & ❤


The Call:


I am Nobody, Who are you

By Emily Dickinson


I ‘m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ‘s a pair of us-don’t tell!
They ‘d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!


Self Imag(I)nation

by Jannât Marie


I don’t care how many masters exist.

I am curious to know if you have discovered

Who You truly are or

are you still trying to fit in and find yourself?

I am curious to know if you have felt misery or

can you hear it in our children?

Are you living in the world?

or are you of this world?

With its oppressive nexus to

make you conform when reflecting

through fine tuned ears,

Proclaiming THIS IS WHO I AM!

Are you improvising how to

thrive in the cultural inferno by

leaning in to the center of your dreams

Accepting to live in every present moment

remaining rooted in a universal love

fully aware you can consciously re-Create

the misguided missives

that originated in Cultural deceit.

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

© Copyright  2011-2016 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All Rights Reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  Feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks and added to websites; please do not change the content, and please provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


Free Write Friday ~ A Mindfulness Meditation Riff 4 Big Dreams − New Life is featuring Stanley Clarke’s Butterfly Dreams

Make Dreams Come True Courtesy of rickyahuja.com
Make Dreams Come True Courtesy of rickyahuja.com

Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world. ~ Harriet Tubman

 “New Birth, New Creation”

By Carol Lynne


Life is change, every moment brings change.

In this moment there is creation
There is passion
There is fire
There is birth
A new idea
A new creation
A new love
A new passion.
Energies stir within my soul
And new aspects are born in this moment.
All is excitement
All is wonderment
I am in awe as I experience new creation
New birth.”


The Vedanta teaches us that there are seven states of consciousness. These are: (1) deep sleep; (2) dream state which occurs while we are in the 1st state; (3) awake state which we are in the majority of the time; (4) meditative state where we have a glimpse of the soul; (5) cosmic consciousness; (6) divine consciousness and last but not least (7) unity consciousness.   Today I fell in a somewhat reflective mood and am ready to move on and conforming to my dreams. When I was 3 years old I was passionate about books and music – jazz and ethnic music. When I sat in my mom’s lap as she read from a reader brought me immeasurable joy at the deepest level. I now realize my love of writing and reading were born and established that heat has a kinship with what is essential for my life. Ironically, I am calling for questions that I usually reserve for the New Year and a way to let go of the negative energies of my old efforts.  I didn’t get the grant I applied for a few months ago.  Now I am blogging and working on new tasks that give me boundless energy and I am following my North Star.  Timing is everything when it comes to animation and jazz.  What is most substantial are the internal questions and what would be the inspiration for both my mental and physical state of being.  Thinking over and opening up your mettle to the possibilities is what keeps me going.  Experience has demonstrated that.  And then I am giving way to lean in on my dreams and learn from my mistakes.  I will begin by embracing the wonder and mystery of life and then I may expand my intellect and connect to my cozy world.  Creating and improvising allows for a change that will benefit everything and everyone.   I plug-in, crank up the volume of Butterfly Dreams, let the flow begin… streaming jazz, words, symbols, dreams and expansion.  Timbre changes my orientation, the beat dominates the regular recurrence of my spirit and I become mindful of the riffs that emerge that are transforming my life and prepares me for life’s riff to get.  How would you go about it though?  How do you change a negative into a positive?  It doesn’t use up magic or illusions; it shouts for your dreams and the bravery and imagination to freely improvise the changes that heals and nourishes you.  Baby steps in the start; with practice it becomes natural and joyous.  Follow your life and let it lead you to where you never believed was possible? Peace & Love Out!  JBC 😎 & ❤

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

© Copyright  2011-2016 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All Rights Reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  Feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks and added to websites; please do not change the content, and please provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.



Tell It Slant Tuesday Riffshot ~ “Song of the Open Road” by Walt Whitman Acoustic Ambiance ~ The Rippingtons – “Where The Road Will Lead Us”

Beginner's Mind Suzuki Philosophy Courtesy of jazzadvice_dot_com
Beginner’s Mind Suzuki Philosophy Courtesy of jazzadvice_dot_com

Song of the Open Road is a 1944 musical comedy film directed by S. Sylvan Simon, from a screenplay by Irving Phillips and Edward Verdier. It was the debut film of teenage singer Jane Powell. Powell’s real name was Suzanne Burce, but prior to the release of this film MGM assigned her the stage name “Jane Powell” (the name of the character she portrays in this film).[1]  …Hope you enjoy a mindfulness improv moment in jazz with an open mind and heart…Peace Out & Love JBC 😎 <3.

Song of the Open Road



Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.


Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.


The earth, that is sufficient,

I do not want the constellations any nearer,

I know they are very well where they are,

I know they suffice for those who belong to them.


(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,

I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,

I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,

I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)



You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here,

I believe that much unseen is also here.


Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,

The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied;

The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,

The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,


The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town,

They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,

None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.



You air that serves me with breath to speak!

You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!

You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!

You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!

I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.


You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!

You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships!


You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs!

You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!

You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!

You doors and ascending steps! you arches!

You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!

From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,

From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.



The earth expanding right hand and left hand,

The picture alive, every part in its best light,

The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,

The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.


O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?

Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost?

Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me?


O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,

You express me better than I can express myself,

You shall be more to me than my poem.


I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also,

I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,

I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,

I think whoever I see must be happy.



From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,

Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,

Listening to others, considering well what they say,

Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,

Gently,but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space,

The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.


I am larger, better than I thought,

I did not know I held so much goodness.


All seems beautiful to me,

I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,

I will recruit for myself and you as I go,

I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,

I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,

Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,

Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.



Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me,

Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me.


Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,

It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.


Here a great personal deed has room,

(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,

Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.)


Here is the test of wisdom,

Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,

Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,

Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,

Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,

Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;

Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.


Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,

They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.


Here is realization,

Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him,

The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.


Only the kernel of every object nourishes;

Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?

Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?


Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos;

Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?

Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?



Here is the efflux of the soul,

The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions,

These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they?

Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?

Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?

Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?

(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;)

What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?

What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?

What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause?

What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what gives them to be free to mine?



The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,

I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,

Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.


Here rises the fluid and attaching character,

The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman,

(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.)


Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old,

From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,

Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.



Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!

Traveling with me you find what never tires.


The earth never tires,

The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first,

Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d,

I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.


Allons! we must not stop here,

However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here,

However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here,

However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while.



Allons! the inducements shall be greater,

We will sail pathless and wild seas,

We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.


Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements,

Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;

Allons! from all formules!

From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.


The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer.


Allons! yet take warning!

He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance,

None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health,

Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself,

Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies,

No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.


(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,

We convince by our presence.)



Listen! I will be honest with you,

I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,

These are the days that must happen to you:

You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,

You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,

You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,

You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you,

What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting,

You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.



Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!

They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women,

Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,

Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,

Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,

Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,

Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,

Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,

Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins,

Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it,

Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,

Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,

Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,

Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content,

Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,

Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,

Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.



Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,

To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,

To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,

Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,

To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,

To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,

To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you,

To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,

To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it,

To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,

To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,

To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,

To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts,

To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,

To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.


All parts away for the progress of souls,

All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.


Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.


Forever alive, forever forward,

Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,

Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,

They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,

But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great.


Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!

You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.


Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!

It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.


Behold through you as bad as the rest,

Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,

Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,

Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.


No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,

Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,

Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,

In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,

Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere,

Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,

Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,

Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,

Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.



Allons! through struggles and wars!

The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.


Have the past struggles succeeded?

What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?

Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.


My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,

He going with me must go well arm’d,

He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.



Allons! the road is before us!

It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d!


Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!

Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!

Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!

Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.


Camerado, I give you my hand!

I give you my love more precious than money,

I give you myself before preaching or law;

Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?

Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

© Copyright  2011-2016 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All Rights Reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  Feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks and added to websites; please do not change the content, and please provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


Friday Free Write ~ Jazz Improv Flash Notes on Getting to Know Who You Are featuring David Benoit’s “Human Nature”

Romare Bearden Odyssey - a trip of self discovery
Romare Bearden Odyssey – a trip of self discovery
“Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in the face of certain defeat.” ― Ralph EllisonInvisible Man

Our experiences shape and make us into the people we are today.  But that does not clarify who we really are or for that matter what we are passionate about or what we want from life or what our purpose is.

We develop beliefs and values albeit good and not so good from our environment.  The pressure from society to conform plays the biggest role in how these virtues are developed.

When I was younger, I thought academic achievement and fitting in defined my self-worth.

The sunrise cast a warm glow through my picture window early on that early Monday morning in February, 1965.  Dad is sitting at the piano in our living room making last-minute notations on the songs for rehearsal later today.  He is my five a.m. wake up call. I would hear dulcet tones sending a breath of notes across my mind to the beat of my existence.  It was a series of riffs and changes with a syncopated harmonic intent.  It had a rhythm that majestically brought a sense of devotion to each note.  The sound of him hitting each piano key gave the house a mystery, transforming life and setting our house apart from the rest of the houses on Wilton Place….

…Growing up, I was the “native” daughter of a 60s Jazz arranger/conductor where the reining tradition was parents (‘rents) had the final word.  I slump down in my seat staring out the window trying to recover.  I feel betrayed.   Deep down inside I always felt like I was a visitor especially when it came to expressing my feelings and even more so in the world.  To me being mixed race or checking the “Other” box is a perfect witness to my life.  My father was a very complicated man of contradictions.  So reading and writing poems became my escape.    It liberated me from the labyrinths of insuperable gender and race biases that tend to dissipate little girls like me.

I would hole up in my room for hours overhearing myself admit difficult truths that I could not hide from.  It welcomed creative inspirations into my sensory consciousness.    It gave me the chance to explore and discover the province of sound and words.   I found my rhythm. Mom taught me how to read when I was 3.  I was eleven years old when I had fallen in love with sound, art and most of all words.  Dad throughout all the civil rights Tsunami did not faze him because he was driven to do the best on all levels for the upcoming Festival.  I followed suit in my own little way.  I survived by living in disguise. Since I was very young, the sanctity of my bedroom provided a canvas where I hoped, dreamed, set my own values and aspirations.  When I left my room I had to leave them behind like my books and other treasures tucked away on a shelf nestled in the opposite corner of the room.  I knew that Dad loved me, not without surrendering and bartering my own thoughts and feelings when he told me what I was supposed to want.  Dad repeatedly drummed into me that …being a doctor is where it’s at.  My foray into the jazz world began when I could feel my father’s intensity and determination given to each note; I mirrored that sensation into words at my desk.  I discovered and accepted the gifts and talents that Grandpa used to tell me… were gifts God gave me.  I let go of my family “persona”  free to let my imagination come alive and tap into my personal sense of purpose and who I really am.  Early mornings I would lie in bed hearing the music climb the stairs, it had a purpose, it had an intent – it was harmonic, it had a rhythm that grabbed my heart and rendered the beats to prepare me to go to my desk open my curtains and let the burst of the morning gently touch my face.  Jazz was transformative.  I was paralyzed by the feeling of losing my father’s love if I chose to follow my star.  I needed for him to tell me things would be okay.  That he would help me, encourage me, teach me the way things are in the world I was living.  How did he do it?  Every time I tried to step out of the role he created in the song he wrote for me, he would resist.  So I would withdraw and try to convince myself that he knows what’s best for me.  I was so conflicted when he would teach me how to sight sing from sheet music, take me to his rehearsals and ask what instrument I wanted to learn how to play?  There were definitely rules of conduct and engagement with others in the Jazz world.  There were two distinct behaviors, one associated with our home and private life and the one associated with our public life.  I spent most of the time in my room.  There the only rule was to be myself.

So here are suggested secret habits of Jazz Living that I learned that have helped me to find myself:

  • You do not have to prove or define your worth.

It is not up for debate.  You cannot change your circumstance by saying If I do everything my parents or loved one wants then I will be accepted or loved.  Not only is that self-deprecating and destructive it places your value outside of who you really are…worthy of love, respect, and compassion.

  • Take 5 to explore different things to find the things you enjoy.

Begin by having a mindfulness meditation on what things you would do if you were stranded on an island or in the country or even a big city and see what you would like to do and need.  Would you need a guitar, books, art supplies, a camera or would you run or dance in place or create a movie?  Explore what makes you feel comforted, and what comes naturally to you.  You can sign up for classes in dance, guitar lessons, listen to a different music to find out what resonates with you.

  • Let go of expectationsBe yourself!

Stop worrying about what the outcome will be.  Others have always tried to help me to find myself and granted that was wonderful but what I learned from the musicians when I went to their rehearsals was you have to discovers what makes you tick.  What gives you joy and what gives you pause.  Let your inner soul free to fly or sail to where ever it may lead you.

  • Take care of yourself.

Follow your gut.  If something doesn’t feel right, listen to yourself.  Give yourself a break at least, well in my case, a hundred times a day.  If something isn’t going the way I want it to, step back and see what it is you really want from the situation.

  • Fitting in is not the name of the game.

“The real treasure is not reaching your destination; it’s getting the most out of the journey.”

When you are living in the moment and being yourself you will attract authentic and lasting friendships into your life.  People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.

Your life is not set in stone.  You are the creator of your life and the choices you make.  You are Awesome and if someone tells you otherwise, tell them Haters Not Allowed.  Peace and Love Out!  JBC  😎 & ❤

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

© Copyright  2011-2016 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All Rights Reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  Feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks and added to websites; please do not change the content, and please provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.

My TEDx Talk

This post is the highest form of creatively Improvising life. Now that’s what I’m talking about….Great read! Peace Out! JBC ♥

I’m happy to announce that in November of 2015, I had the opportunity to give a talk at a local TEDx event. If you had asked me previous to the experience if I ever thought I would give a TED talk, I would have said, “Ha, sure; maybe in 20 years”. I entirely have my husband to thank (blame) for this opportunity as he was the one who saw the initial flyers advertising applications and who believed that I had something interesting to share with the community, and ultimately, the internet world.

TEDx events are smaller, independently run, versions of a larger TED conference that is held each year. TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design and the program runs with the intentions of spreading ideas. TEDx events are run by an independent organization at the local level to help create a “TED-like” community. The event that I participated in…

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Tell It Slant Tuesday ~ Poet’s Beat on a Jazz Lit Canvas “Under the Edge of February” by Jayne Cortez featuring Gil Fuller & Monterey Jazz Festival – “Angel City Blues” – Feat. Dizzy Gillespie

Wilderness Courtesy of noupe.com
Wilderness Courtesy of noupe.com

“Overall, I think the main thing a musician would like to do is to give a picture to the listener of the many wonderful things he knows of and senses in the universe. That’s what music is to me—it’s just another way of saying this is a big, beautiful universe we live in, that’s been given to us, and here’s an example of just how magnificent and encompassing it is. That’s what I would like to do. I think that’s one of the greatest things you can do in life, and we all try to do it in some way. The musician’s is through his music.”  ~ John Coltrane

Part of the writing process for me is finding inspiration fueled by improvisation.  It is everywhere.  So, jazz portraits on a literary canvas began back in the 60s.  Witnessed by the shattering of equality were the demonstrated demands for freedoms of expression of being who you are still remain in our country today.  Described as “a fool’s folly”of thinking that colors should be sundered from white.  That blood is red and yet not equal.  That striving to be the same is better than celebrating our differences.  February was the quiet before that August storm when I was inspired by the soft muses that resonated with me and comforted me back in the 60s seeing twenty five miles from our manicured community in the Wilshire district flames and fury that forever metastasized Tinsel Town.  Jayne Cortez was born in Arizona, grew up in Los Angeles, California, and lived in New York City. She was the author of ten books of poems and performed her poetry with music on nine recordings. Her poetry continues to be celebrated for its political, surrealistic, dynamic innovations in lyricism, and visceral sound.  Her poetry reflects the time but what the most important message from Ms. Jayne Cortez FIND YOUR OWN VOICE!  That became my mantra and has given me the strength to face whatever adversity that comes my way.  Peace & Love Out!  JBC 😎 & ❤

Under the Edge of February

by Jayne Cortez 

Under the edge of February
in hawk of a throat
hidden by ravines of sweet oil
by temples of switch blades
beautiful in its sound of fertility
beautiful in its turban of funeral crepe
beautiful in its camouflage of grief
in its solitude of bruises
in its arson of alert

Who will enter its beautiful calligraphy of blood
Its beautiful mask of fish net
mask of hubcaps mask of ice picks mask
of watermelon rinds mask of umbilical cords
changing into a mask of rubber bands

Who will enter this beautiful beautiful mask of
punctured bladders moving with a mask of chapsticks
Compound of Hearts Compound of Hearts
Where is the lucky number for this shy love
this top heavy beauty bathed with charcoal water
self conscious against a mosaic of broken bottles
broken locks broken pipes broken
bloods of broken spirits broken through like
broken promises

Landlords Junkies Thieves
enthroning themselves in you
they burn up couches they burn down houses
and infuse themselves against memory
every thought
a pavement of old belts
every performance
a ceremonial pick up

how many more orphans how many neglected shrines
how many more stolen feet stolen guns
stolen watch bands of death
in you how many times

hidden by ravines of sweet oil
by temples of switch blades
beautiful in your sound of fertility
beautiful in your turban of funeral crepe
beautiful in your camouflage of grief
in your solitude of bruises in
your arson of alert

Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength
Symbol 4 Inner Peace & Strength

© Copyright  2011-2016 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All Rights Reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  Feel free to share it with others; it can be distributed via social media or pingbacks and added to websites; please do not change the content, and please provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.