50 Shades of Monterey ~ The Best Laid Plans…featuring “Groovin’ High” (2007 Digital Remaster) ~ Dizzy Gillespie)


This is an excerpt from my memoir “The Sound I Felt” ~ The Feelin’ ain’t gone, it’s filled with riffs from the past, present and future.

When I woke up yesterday morning, the first day of the Monterey Jazz Festival I discovered that my breast cancer treatment was scheduled for the same day. The one thing that I have discovered on the road to Monterey is that no matter where I am – I am always there.  All is well.

It’s Saturday, September 19, 2015.  Today I headed to Fisherman’s Wharf.  There was a Tsunami of emotional memories that came like a wave of healing that inspired me to expand on this whole idea of moving from Seattle, Washington back to my jazz roots in Monterey.  I am living in the East Bay but BART is my portal back to the 1965 MJF fairgrounds for day two of this year’s festival.

When the idea (in my terms the “melody”) in this case covering the Festival, breast cancer always seems to hit the bottom notes creating my counter melody. So jazz and its’ culture becomes the ambient substrate for me to write harmonic riffs and changes to heal my life and to improvise a way to have the best of both worlds. There are three categories that describe ways which folks approach life. Inner-directed, other-directed and tradition-directed.

Growing up, my father through his music and living style demonstrated and showed me that I am an Inner-directed individual. In my sixty years, I can’t think of any musician, artist or writer who is not. Inner directed people don’t care about anything except what they want to do most! On the other hand I have gone to school and have friends that are other-directed that don’t appear to have a sense of their identity based upon the approval of others or the world around them. In the 70s when I was graduating from college and I tried to make my father happy by going to medical school, the tradition-directed approach would be the best way to describe following the rules that were handed down from my father’s dream for me and past. There were many discordant harmonies that threw me off balance and caused a tremendous amount of conflict, dis-ease and most of all an identity crisis. Don’t you know that mixed chicks don’t fit in anywhere.

Life is not linear even though it is based upon notes that are on a scale. Mindfulness constantly reminds me of how I am feeling. When the melody and rhythm are bathed in jazz form, there is freedom to explore and to live within the discomfort and acceptance brings about healing on all fronts.

This is a prelude to the next segment ~ Riff Words ~ Monterey Jazz, Then & Now on my Kindle…

Live, Laugh and Love
Live, Laugh and Love

© Copyright  2011-2015 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All rights reserved.

This material is and has been copyrighted.  eel 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.

The Sounds I felt ~Riff Shots, Licks, Mimesis and Acoustic & Video Snaps from The Village Vanguard, Me, My Father and Ahmad Jamal circa 1969 Accompanied by Ahmad Jamal – “Frank’s Tune”

NewYork_VillageVanguard_Courtesyof singyoursongthemovie_dot_com
NewYork_VillageVanguard_Courtesyof singyoursongthemovie_dot_com

My family and I moved back to New York in the Fall of 1969.  We lived in Jamaica Estates in Queens.  My mother said that the one thing she loved about living in New York City was the change of Seasons.  LA was was a stark contrast and a culture shock for me.  I remembered living on Riverside Drive and going to the park with all the other children and their mom’s or nanny’s.  Night life was a whole different world.  There was no comparison, the opening of the Los Angeles Music Center (an upcoming post) was a gala event in 1967.  Limousines and everyone all glammed up ~ tux’s and evening gowns that stole the show from the stars that shone that night in the sky.  Bling everywhere!  Night life in the New York Jazz scene had its own magic.  Everybody was a superstar.  The subways meant you travelled in style.  You didn’t need a limo.  Besides everyone had the chance to sit next to Dizzy or Miles or Byrd and if you knew that you were in their presence, you smiled and cocked your head to greet them.  There was no standing on ceremony.  The only ceremony was in the club.  There is something majestic about New York, snow, traffic, subways, the hot dog and pretzels stands, and I can’t forget the pervasive smell of chestnuts that were roasting signaling the holiday season was near.  We took the F train in and got out on 14th Street in the Village.


I saw the red awning blanketed with snow that glistened in the evening lights, I felt my heart skip a beat.  The Village Vangard’s grand opening on February 22, 1935, by Max Gordon. At first, it featured many forms of music  and poetry~ folk music and beat poetry, but it switched to an all-jazz format in 1957. The Village Vanguard, is a small underground club nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village and to the best of my recollection one of the hottest places in the world to hear the best jazz,  We made our way down stairs to a table that was right next to the piano.  My father ordered Jambalaya and Shrimp Étouffée with Dirty Rice.  A spotlight shown on the piano that was tucked into a corner.  I will always wonder how the heck they got this Steinway Grand Piano down a narrow flight of stairs, so narrow mind you, you have to turn sideways to descend them.  The clapping began to fill the air and  Ahmad walked out smiling and bowing as he made his way to the piano.  He gave my father a warm hug  and bowed to our table then sat down to play Snowfall, and Frank’s Tune.  These were songs my father told me they worked together on. My father said that Ahmad was like Errol Garner and Joe Henderson who had a way with the ivory that Count Basie and Duke would applaud.  What a treat to be caught up in the mindfulness and sacredness of Jazz in a well established club in the Village.  That night was so unique and as perfect  as an individual snow flake  Tom MoonNPR musical correspondent put it like this, Ahmad Jamal is one of the great Zen masters of jazz piano. He plays just what is needed and nothing more… every phrase is perfect.”  Peace Out!  JBC 😎  ❤  Happy Nu Year!  Here is a snap of M. Jamal playing at the Alhambra so you can get a feel of what it was like at the Village Vanguard back in 1969.  I hope you enjoy it.  Peace and Love Out!  JBC 😎 & ❤

Happy Holidaze 2 U from the Pacific Northwest.

hope faith & love

© Copyright  2011-2015 by Jazzybeatchick/JazZenista/Jannat Marie. All rights reserved.

This material is 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, provide credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


FreeWrite Friday ~ “Makeup on Empty Space” by Anne Waldman accompanied by Ray Charles & Diana Krall ~ performing “You Don’t Know Me”

Today marks my 1000th post on Tumblr a very close relative of WordPress.  I am so blessed to have the WP family in my life.   So I am in a celebrating this joyous mood and we are going to flash back to my favorite decade…the 60’s.  I remember sitting and watching my mom getting all gussied up for the Grammy Awards in 1966.  This poem captured how mom really felt about wearing make-up.  It began when she was a teenager.  She hated freckles.  Pancake make-up was what all the glamorous actresses and models were wearing.  Her skin was clear, except for the dag gone bloomin’ freckles, yet her skin was so soft to the touch.  Her hazel eyes sparkled as she was putting on her red lipstick.  Red lipstick back in the 60’s was hot and hip.  When I used to get into her make up and costume jewelry I always admired mom of course, but I loved Audrey HepburnFunny Face always comes to mind because it symbolized in its theme and dialogue with Cary Grant and Audrey was the epitome of what mindfulness Improvisation is all about in every shade you can imagine.

I selected Ray Charles and Diana Krall singing a duet as a sort of call and response and play on makeup where the face becomes a blank canvas that is the idea of creating persona’s.  In mom’s case it was completely different from who she really was to me.  Going up we had a public life and a private life.  Being a racially mixed girl it was confusing and difficult to find a place to fit outside of our home on Wilton Place especially my bedroom.  There I was free to create any persona as well as deal with the truth that was happening just outside our front door.  So, how about doing the chores to this tempo and have fun with it.  Peace & Love Out!  JBC 😎 & ❤

Makeup on Empty Space


I am putting makeup on empty space

all patinas convening on empty space

rouge blushing on empty space

I am putting makeup on empty space

pasting eyelashes on empty space

painting the eyebrows of empty space

piling creams on empty space

painting the phenomenal world

I am hanging ornaments on empty space

gold clips, lacquer combs, plastic hairpins on empty space

I am sticking wire pins into empty space

I pour words over empty space, enthrall the empty space

packing, stuffing jamming empty space

spinning necklaces around empty space

Fancy this, imagine this: painting the phenomenal world

bangles on wrists

pendants hung on empty space

I am putting my memory into empty space

undressing you

hanging the wrinkled clothes on a nail

hanging the green coat on a nail

dancing in the evening it ended with dancing in the evening

I am still thinking about putting makeup on empty space

I want to scare you: the hanging night, the drifting night,

the moaning night, daughter of troubled sleep I want to scare you


I bind as far as cold day goes

I bind the power of 20 husky men

I bind the seductive colorful women, all of them

I bind the massive rock

I bind the hanging night, the drifting night, the

moaning night, daughter of troubled sleep

I am binding my debts, I magnetize the phone bill

bind the root of my pointed tongue

I cup my hands in water, splash water on empty space

water drunk by empty space

Look what thoughts will do   Look what words will do

from nothing to the face

from nothing to the root of the tongue

from nothing to speaking of empty space

I bind the ash tree

I bind the yew

I bind the willow

I bind uranium

I bind the uneconomical unrenewable energy of uranium

dash uranium to empty space

I bind the color red I seduce the color red to empty space

I put the sunset in empty space

I take the blue of his eyes and make an offering to empty space

renewable blue

I take the green of everything coming to life, it grows &

climbs into empty space

I put the white of the snow at the foot of empty space

I clasp the yellow of the cat’s eyes sitting in the

black space I clasp them to my heart, empty space

I want the brown of this floor to rise up into empty space

Take the floor apart to find the brown,

bind it up again under spell of empty space

I want to take this old wall apart I am rich in my mind thinking

of this, I am thinking of putting makeup on empty space

Everything crumbles around empty space

the thin dry weed crumbles, the milkweed is blown into empty space

I bind the stars reflected in your eye

from nothing to these typing fingers

from nothing to the legs of the elk

from nothing to the neck of the deer

from nothing to porcelain teeth

from nothing to the fine stand of pine in the forest

I kept it going when I put the water on

when I let the water run

sweeping together in empty space

There is a better way to say empty space

Turn yourself inside out and you might disappear

you have a new definition in empty space

What I like about impermanence is the clash

of my big body with empty space

I am putting the floor back together again

I am rebuilding the wall

I am slapping mortar on bricks

I am fastening the machine together with delicate wire

There is no eternal thread, maybe there is thread of pure gold

I am starting to sing inside about the empty space

there is some new detail every time

I am taping the picture I love so well on the wall:

moonless black night beyond country-plaid curtains

everything illuminated out of empty space

I hang the black linen dress on my body

the hanging night, the drifting night, the moaning night

daughter of troubled sleep

This occurs to me

I hang up a mirror to catch stars, everything occurs to me out in the

night in my skull of empty space

I go outside in starry ice

I build up the house again in memory of empty space

This occurs to me about empty space

that it is nevered to be mentioned again

Fancy this

imagine this

painting the phenomenal world

there’s talk of dressing the body with strange adornments

to remind you of a vow to empty space

there’s talk of the discourse in your mind like a silkworm

I wish to venture into a not-chiseled place

I pour sand on the ground

Objects and vehicles emerge from the fog

the canyon is dangerous tonight

suddenly there are warning lights

The patrol is helpful in the manner of guiding

there is talk of slowing down

there is talk of a feminine deity

I bind her with a briar

I bind with the tooth of a tiger

I bind with my quartz crystal

I magnetize the worlds

I cover myself with jewels

I drink amrita

there is some new detail

there is a spangle on her shoe

there is a stud on her boot

the tires are studded for the difficult climb

I put my hands to my face

I am putting makeup on empty space

I wanted to scare you with the night that scared me

the drifting night, the moaning night

Someone was always intruding to make you forget empty space

you put it all on

you paint your nails

you put on scarves

all the time adorning empty space

Whatever-your-name-is I tell you “empty space”

with your fictions with dancing come around to it

with your funny way of singing come around to it

with your smiling come to it

with your enormous retinue & accumulation come around to it

with your extras come round to it

with your good fortune, with your lazy fortune come round to it

when you look most like a bird, that is the time to come around to it

when you are cheating, come to it

when you are in your anguished head

when you are not sensible

when you are insisting on the

praise from many tongues

It begins with the root of the tongue

it begins with the root of the heart

there is a spinal cord of wind

singing & moaning in empty space

Anne Waldman, “Makeup on Empty Space” from Helping the Dreamer: Selected Poems, 1966-1988. Copyright © 1989 by Anne Waldman. Reprinted with the permission of Coffee House Press, Minneapolis, www.coffeehousepress.com.

Source: Helping the Dreamer: Selected Poems 1966-1988 (Coffee House Press, 1989)

Japanese translation for meaning
Japanese translation for meaning

Copyright © 2011-2014 by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick. 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, provide appropriate credit by including the author’s name @ http://jazzybeatchick.com and your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


”‘WordPlay Wednesday”




In Jazz a  call and response is a succession of two distinct phrases usually played by different musicians, where the second phrase is heard as a direct commentary on or response to the first. It corresponds to the call-and-response pattern in human communication and is found as a basic element of musical form, such as verse-chorus form, in many traditions. This blog will represent The Call will be Buddhist thought or koan or poem and the Response will be Memorable Jazz quotes or sayings or Poet’s Beat or just having a way with.words…Have a great day!  Peace & Love Out!  JBC 😎 ❤

The Call:


On life’s journey
Faith is nourishment,
Virtuous deeds are a shelter,
Wisdom is the light by day and
Right mindfulness is the protection by night.
If a man lives a pure life nothing can destroy him;
If he has conquered greed nothing can limit his freedom.

The Response:


Louis Armstrong

“What we play is life.”

“You blows who you is.”

“If ya ain’t got it in ya, ya can’t blow it out.”

“Never play anything the same way twice.”

“Man, if you have to ask what it [jazz] is, you’ll never know.”

“All music is folk music, I ain’t never heard no horse sing a song.”

“My whole life, my whole soul, my whole spirit is to blow that horn…”

“There is only two kinds of music, the good and the bad. I play the good kind.”

“If I don’t practice for a day, I know it. If I don’t practice for two days, the critics know it. And if I don’t practice for three days, the public knows it.”

“The memory of things gone is important to a jazz musician. Things like old folks singing in the moonlight in the back yard on a hot night or something said long ago.”

© Copyright 2011-2014  by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick. 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.

Movable Feast Monday ~ JazzFoodie Bytes ~Awesome “Roasted Winter Vegetable Jambalaya” Accompanied by Kenny Barron – “In The Meantime”

Roasted Winter Vegetable Jambala with garden grown root veggies.  Courtesy a la pinterest.com
Roasted Winter Vegetable Jambalaya with garden grown root veggies. Courtesy a la pinterest.com

I started cooking when I was in the 7th grade in Los Angeles when I signed up for Home Economics and Woodworking.  Growing up with my father meant we were always in some sort of class, on Saturday’s I remember sitting at the white marble table in our family room with my brother and my father bringing in electronic parts so we could either build an oscillator or on this particular Saturday, we built a Crystal Radio.  My father had remodeled our house on Wilton place which was basically an eleven room house.  Entertaining was a large part of the LA scene.  So when I came home elated that I mastered “White Sauce” on the stove.  My father thought it was only fitting that he get the Time Life World Recipe Cookbooks with pictures you would salivate just looking at them.  My father was the real cook in the house.  So he not only taught me how to cook Jambalaya the authentic way.  Cancer has taught me the value of not compromising the taste for good healthy foods that not only sustains you but promotes wellness and thriving.  So my Jazz foodie comrades here is a version that you will not only enjoy but, meat lovers will find it a tasty repast.  Now things would not be proper if you didn’t add the sounds,,, So let’s get to it….

Awesome “Roasted Winter Vegetable Jambalaya”



1 c                   diced yellow and red onion

½ c                  seeded and diced green pepper

1 stalk             celery with leaves finely chopped

3-5 clove       Garlic  minced

¼ tsp.                         chili powder

¼ tsp.             cayenne

Sea Salt 2 taste

3 tbl.               EVOO + 1 tbl  Coconut oil

¾ c      Glenn Muir chopped canned tomatoes w/juice

1 tbl.   Tomato Paste


1 c       brown rice (my favorite is “Easy Cooking Whole Grain Brown Rice Suoyhaka Genmai”  rinsed and soaked overnight and strained for1 hour before cooking.

3 c       Homemade Vegetable Broth



Roasted Vegetables


1 c       peeled and diced carrots

1 c       peeled and diced golden beets

1 c       peeled and diced parsnips

1 c       peeled and diced Yukon Gold potatoes

1 c       peeled and diced white sweet potatoes

½ c      baby portabella mushrooms





½ c      fresh chopped cilantro

½ c      scallions with green tops finely chopped


Sauté onion, paprika, red pepper, chili powder, etc. in I for 5 min add brown rice

and sauté until smell the nutty aroma mix in diced tomatoes and tomato paste and stir for 3 to 5 minutes.   Remove and set aside.


  1. Roast vegetables on foil or parchment paper. Mix all vegetables in a bowl with EVOO, Creole seasoning and spread evenly in a shallow pan.  Dust with pepper.

Roast for 40 to 45 minutes.


Bring rice mixture back onto the burner.  Heat the vegetable broth to light boil and turn on rice mixture and pour broth into Dutch oven.  Add the roasted veggies and mix very well with wooden spoon.  Turn heat to low medium to light simmer, cover and cook for approximately 45 minutes  remove from stove leave lid on and let stand and steam for 10 minutes more.  I prefer to use the same pot for that down home feel, you may want to use your favorite serving dish.  Now it is time to put the Garnish of cilantro and green onions (scallions) .  Serve  with greens or simple salad, French garlic bread and I like sweet green tea, but, wine or beer works.  Perfect for football, soccer or even tennis matches.  I like to have a light dessert like sorbet and fresh fruit.  Pipe in the sound for a nice ambiance and Bon Appétit.  Peace & Love!  JBC 😎 ❤

© Copyright 2011-2014  by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick. 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.

Poet’s Beat on Jazz Canvas ~ “Toward An Organic Philosophy” by Kenneth Rexroth featuring Schawkie Roth – “Awareness Folded in Mystery”

“Toward An Organic Philosophy” by Kenneth Rexroth

Coastal Forest Black And White
Coastal Forest Black And White


The glow of my campfire is dark red and flameless,
The circle of white ash widens around it.
I get up and walk off in the moonlight and each time
I look back the red is deeper and the light smaller.
Scorpio rises late with Mars caught in his claw;
The moon has come before them, the light
Like a choir of children in the young laurel trees.
It is April; the shad, the hot headed fish,
Climbs the rivers; there is trillium in the damp canyons;
The foetid adder’s tongue lolls by the waterfall.
There was a farm at this campsite once, it is almost gone now.
There were sheep here after the farm, and fire
Long ago burned the redwoods out of the gulch,
The Douglas fir off the ridge; today the soil
Is stony and incoherent, the small stones lie flat
And plate the surface like scales.
Twenty years ago the spreading gully
Toppled the big oak over onto the house.
Now there is nothing left but the foundations
Hidden in poison oak, and above on the ridge,
Six lonely, ominous fenceposts;
The redwood beams of the barn make a footbridge
Over the deep waterless creek bed;
The hills are covered with wild oats
Dry and white by midsummer.
I walk in the random survivals of the orchard.
In a patch of moonlight a mole
Shakes his tunnel like an angry vein;
Orion walks waist deep in the fog coming in from the ocean;
Leo crouches under the zenith.
There are tiny hard fruits already on the plum trees.
The purity of the apple blossoms is incredible.
As the wind dies down their fragrance
Clusters around them like thick smoke.
All the day they roared with bees, in the moonlight
They are silent and immaculate.


Spring of full bloom in Sierra Nevada
Spring of full bloom in Sierra Nevada

Once more golden Scorpio glows over the col
Above Deadman Canyon, orderly and brilliant,
Like an inspiration in the brain of Archimedes.
I have seen its light over the warm sea,
Over the coconut beaches, phosphorescent and pulsing;
And the living light in the water
Shivering away from the swimming hand,
Creeping against the lips, filling the floating hair.
Here where the glaciers have been and the snow stays late,
The stone is clean as light, the light steady as stone.
The relationship of stone, ice and stars is systematic and enduring:
Novelty emerges after centuries, a rock spalls from the cliffs,
The glacier contracts and turns grayer,
The stream cuts new sinuosities in the meadow,
The sun moves through space and the earth with it,
The stars change places.
The snow has lasted longer this year,
Than anyone can remember. The lowest meadow is a lake,
The next two are snowfields, the pass is covered with snow,
Only the steepest rocks are bare. Between the pass
And the last meadow the snowfield gapes for a hundred feet,
In a narrow blue chasm through which a waterfall drops,
Spangled with sunset at the top, black and muscular
Where it disappears again in the snow.
The world is filled with hidden running water
That pounds in the ears like ether;
The granite needles rise from the snow, pale as steel;
Above the copper mine the cliff is blood red,
The white snow breaks at the edge of it;
The sky comes close to my eyes like the blue eyes
Of someone kissed in sleep.
I descend to camp,
To the young, sticky, wrinkled aspen leaves,
To the first violets and wild cyclamen,
And cook supper in the blue twilight.
All night deer pass over the snow on sharp hooves,
In the darkness their cold muzzles find the new grass
At the edge of the snow.


Fall In The NC Mountains-L
Fall In The NC Mountains-L

This morning the hermit thrush was absent at breakfast,
His place was taken by a family of chickadees;
At noon a flock of humming birds passed south,
Whirling in the wind up over the saddle between
Ritter and Banner, following the migration lane
Of the Sierra crest southward to Guatemala.
All day cloud shadows have moved over the face of the mountain,
The shadow of a golden eagle weaving between them
Over the face of the glacier.
At sunset the half-moon rides on the bent back of the Scorpion,
The Great Bear kneels on the mountain.
Ten degrees below the moon
Venus sets in the haze arising from the Great Valley.
Jupiter, in opposition to the sun, rises in the alpenglow
Between the burnt peaks. The ventriloquial belling
Of an owl mingles with the bells of the waterfall.
Now there is distant thunder on the east wind.
The east face of the mountain above me
Is lit with far off lightnings and the sky
Above the pass blazes momentarily like an aurora.
It is storming in the White Mountains,
On the arid fourteen-thousand-foot peaks;
Rain is falling on the narrow gray ranges
And dark sedge meadows and white salt flats of Nevada.
Just before moonset a small dense cumulus cloud,
Gleaming like a grape cluster of metal,
Moves over the Sierra crest and grows down the westward slope.
Frost, the color and quality of the cloud,
Lies over all the marsh below my campsite.
The wiry clumps of dwarfed whitebark pines
Are smoky and indistinct in the moonlight,
Only their shadows are really visible.
The lake is immobile and holds the stars
And the peaks deep in itself without a quiver.
In the shallows the geometrical tendrils of ice
Spread their wonderful mathematics in silence.
All night the eyes of deer shine for an instant
As they cross the radius of my firelight.
In the morning the trail will look like a sheep driveway,
All the tracks will point down to the lower canyon.
“Thus,” says Tyndall, “the concerns of this little place
Are changed and fashioned by the obliquity of the earth’s axis,
The chain of dependence which runs through creation,
And links the roll of a planet alike with the interests
Of marmots and of men.”


Japanese translation for meaning
Japanese translation for meaning

Copyright 2011-2014  by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick. 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.

Do You Know the Way to Monterey? Tribute to the 2014 Monterey Jazz Festival

2014 MJF Poster

Gear Up!  Get your bags packed, book your weekend and flight to Monterey for the upcoming 57th Annual Monterey Jazz Festival on Friday September 19th.  Don’t forget your shades, your cool swagger and most of all your insatiable acoustic and visual appetite for Jazz at its finest.  This is especially something that I look forward to every year since 1965 inspiring me to write a book filled with acoustic and visual recreations of the festival that became the template for A Year of Musical Thinking.

The 2015 MJF  is an acoustic and visual meditative journey traversing the extraordinary and intriguing   lives and careers of the  1965 Men from Monterey jazz legends – Gil Fuller, Dizzy Gillespie and James Moody.   It will be a contemporary and archival film, along with commentary from the jazz and pop sounds; visual contemporary  and literary arts worlds, to create and explore through mindfulness improvisation gaining a better understand these enigmatic men and their spiritual expression and pursuit through jazz. Gil Fuller was top arranger and band leader for the 1965 Monterey Jazz Festival Orchestra featuring Dizzy Gillespie and James Moody who were celebrating their twenty year reunion.  Fuller was credited with enhancing the careers of Dizzy Gillespie and James Moody providing the catalyst for their mindfulness improvisational genius that liberated their uniqueness and expression so they could discover themselves.  An interview with Vincent Pelote a renown jazz historian provided a glimpse of Gil Fuller using own Impressive, moving, stirring, and touching words and music rendering a prosaic and poetic thread that becomes a wonderful tapestry of  his life and the gifts he gave to me to through acoustic and visual snapshots of the unique aspects of our life together.  Here is a sample and one that I play in my car with the top down and cruising the Peninsula:  Enjoy!  Peace Out!  JBC 😎

Here is a special treat check out this trailer… Directed by Jeffrey Morse andDorothy Darr, the latter who is Charles Lloyd‘s painter/filmmaker wife, the documentary Charles Lloyd: Arrows Into Infinity chronicles the influential saxophonist and composer’s life and career range.

Charles Lloyd was one of the most influential jazz musicians of the 1960s. His music crossed traditional boundaries and explored new territories. Born in Memphis, he grew up steeped in the blues but with an ear for modernity. At the age of 26, he was a bandleader with two successful records on Columbia Records, including Forest Flower, recorded live at the Monterey Jazz Festival in 1966. His group, the Charles Lloyd Quartet, consisted of an undiscovered Keith Jarrett, Jack DeJohnette and Cecil McBee.

Copyright 2011-2014  by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick. 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 artisthttp://jazzybeatchick.com your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


Jazz on Canvas ~ In Camera: Human v. Technology Are We Loosing Creativity, Our Sense of Purpose, God Given Gifts of Love, Compassion to Risk It All and Relinquishing it to A New Aesthetic?

B/W broken-people-depressed-Favim.com-578906 (1)
B/W broken-people-depressed-Favim.com-578906 (1)


“In a sense, technology is already a fundamental part of our humanity and because of it we are transitioning from a verbal culture into a one where spoken language is essentially dead. Sharing our thoughts through pictures, like buttons, and online profiles have become our primary form of communication alongside artistic expression. When the two are combined, we are left with a bizarre yet relatable aesthetic. Social networking websites function as an ideal medium for the infectious phenomena of digitized art.”  ~ Elizabeth Heitner’s blog.

You see I have a serious concern and strongly disagree with this.  It is not progress it is de-humanizing us causing us to be automatons.  Albeit it is great to have a computer over a typewriter because it is a tool and not a replacement.  I don’t know about you, but, the new toll free information number is absolutely maddening.  You call and ask an electronic voice for the name of a business or person and the computer spits back something totally ridiculous and you going around and round till you don’t get the listing and the call is terminated.  In the late fifties and early sixties I learned the power of reading and words from my mother and the power of sound and music from my father.  Together it was a nurturing environment that was both physiological and neurological in terms of discovering the five senses of touch, taste, hearing, seeing and most of all feeling.  I can simply close my eyes and recreate and transform an experience into a fully engaged in the moment experience.  Mindfulness improvisation is dependent upon that.  Moreover, it is not predicated or reliant upon power, WiFi signals or technology.

American culture can sometimes be fickle especially when it comes to trends and the hottest new technological advances with smart phones and home alarm systems that can be remotely activated.  The New Aesthetic is allegedly considered an artistic movement. It must be described as physical versus virtual, or humans versus machines.  Technology can only exist when created by humans.  With that comes the inherent disability limited to the individual’s capability who designs it. Its major visual emblems include “pixilated images”, “Photoshop glitches” and animated GIFs.   Where would all of this be if the illustrators and artist genus of Walt Disney.  Data visualization,  i.e., Venn diagram are considered a part of the New Aesthetic in addition to Google Maps and “screen grabs”.  Another popular trend is the Selfie where photos of people taking photos in awkward moments.  Hands down, I prefer photographs by photographers who have a passion to snap pix of nature, oceans, people and life.  It is through their lens that we develop pictures to make us laugh or cry or conjure up memories of times gone by.


The New Aesthetic is superficial and shallow but most of all is limited to the creators abilities to use and master the technology. When video games came out like Dungeons and Dragons it hit the youth market and became an all encompassing phenomenon that led to a disconnect to human existence.  The virtual world become a reality and that reality was marred by violence and an inability to communicate.  It was so much fun going to the movies or seeing a play on Broadway or going to an outdoor festival and concert.  It draws like minded people together.  Improvisation will no longer exist.  Imagination will no longer exist.  Mindfulness will become vacuous and is the very threat to our culture and life on earth.

The New Aesthetic is robbing and replacing our reason and purpose to honor our differences and to communicate feelings and ideas through language, contemporary visual arts and music.  What happens to the artists writers, musicians when it comes to the very thing that makes us love, care, share, hope and imagine an inner glimpse of our souls.  It is not limited by anything and somehow you cannot replace experience ~ good or bad, personal growth and transformation and finding our way in this big vast universe because God created us to be the way we are and unraveling the mysteries of life whether there is power or not.  I’ll take books, plays, concerts and life in its purest and simplest form not relying on anything else but each other.  Peace Out!   JBC 😎

Japanese translation for meaning


Copyright 2011-2014  by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick. 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 artisthttp://jazzybeatchick.com your readers shall not be charged by you under any circumstance.


Poet’s Beat to Jazz Bytes ~ “A Something in a Summer’s Day” by Emily Dickinson ~Julia Child’s Tian de Courgettes au Riz Courtesy of Genius Recipes • August 14, 2012 • featuring Kyle Eastwood – “Summer Gone”

For the moment, the jazz is playing; there is no melody, just notes, a myriad of tiny tremors. The notes know no rest, an inflexible order gives birth to them then destroys them, without ever leaving them the chance to recuperate and exist for themselves. . . I would like to hold them back, but I know that, if I succeeded in stopping one, there would only remain in my hand a corrupt and languishing sound. I must accept their death; I must even want that death: I know of few more bitter or intense impressions. ~ Jean-Paul Sartre


 Hope you all are kickin’ the Labor Day weekend off in true style and sophistication. I am paying a tribute to all that are celebrating their labors of love.  I thought I would start of with a lovely poem by Emily to the sultry sounds of Kyle’s Summer Gone and finishing up with Julia’s Zucchini Tian.  Best Wishes…Peace Out!  JBC 😎

A Something in a Summer’s Day

by Emily Dickinson

A something in a summer’s Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer’s noon—
A depth—an Azure—a perfume—
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer’s night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see—

Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle—shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me—

The wizard fingers never rest—
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes it narrow bed—

Still rears the East her amber Flag—
Guides still the sun along the Crag
His Caravan of Red—

So looking on—the night—the morn
Conclude the wonder gay—
And I meet, coming thro’ the dews
Another summer’s Day!

Julia Child‘s Tian de Courgettes au Riz

Courtesy of Genius Recipes • August 14, 2012


Julia Child's Tian de Courgettes au Riz  Courtesy of Genius Recipes • August 14, 2012
Julia Child’s Tian de Courgettes au Riz Courtesy of Genius Recipes • August 14, 2012

Author Notes: Two-plus pounds of zucchini doesn’t look so demanding once you shred, salt, and squeeze it dry. It sheds its water weight, leaving a tamed pile and a lot of green, lightly salted liquid. You could simply warm the shreds through with onions and garlic or simmer in cream — or cook it into this smart zucchini and rice tian. From Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume Two (Alfred A. Knopf, 1970) (less) – Genius Recipes

Serves 6


Courgettes Rapées (Grated and Salted Zucchini)

  • 2 to 2 1/2pounds zucchini
  • 1/2cup plain, raw, untreated white rice
  • 1cup minced onions
  • 3 to 4tablespoons olive oil
  • 2large cloves garlic, mashed or finely minced
  • 2tablespoons flour
  • About 2 1/2cups warm liquid: zucchini juices plus milk, heated in a pan (watch this closely so that it doesn’t curdle)
  • About 2/3cups grated Parmesan cheese (save 2 tablespoons for later)
  • Salt and pepper
  • A heavily buttered 6- to 8-cup, flameproof baking and serving dish about 1 1/2 inches deep
  • 2tablespoons olive oil
  1. Shave the stem and the tip off each zucchini (or other summer squash), scrub the vegetable thoroughly but not harshly with a brush under cold running water to remove any clinging sand or dirt.
  2. If vegetables are large, halve or quarter them. If seeds are large and at all tough, and surrounding flesh is coarse rather than moist and crisp, which is more often the case with yellow squashes and striped green cocozelles than with zucchini, cut out and discard the cores.
  3. Rub the squash against the coarse side of a grater, and place grated flesh in a colander set over a bowl.
  4. For each 1 pound (2 cups) of grated squash, toss with 1 teaspoon of salt, mixing thoroughly. Let the squash drain 3 or 4 minutes, or until you are ready to proceed.
  5. Just before cooking, squeeze a handful dry and taste. If by any chance the squash is too salty, rinse in a large bowl of cold water, taste again; rinse and drain again if necessary. Then squeeze gently by handfuls, letting juices run back into bowl. Dry on paper towels. Zucchini will not be fluffy; it is still dampish, but the excess liquid is out. The pale-green, slightly saline juice drained and squeezed out of the zucchini has a certain faint flavor that can find its uses in vegetable soups, canned soups, or vegetable sauces.

Tian de Courgettes au Riz [Gratin of Zucchini, Rice, and Onions with Cheese]

  1. While the shredded zucchini is draining (reserve the juices,) drop the rice into boiling salted water, bring rapidly back to the boil, and boil exactly 5 minutes; drain and set aside.
  2. In a large (11-inch) frying pan, cook the onions slowly in the oil for 8 to 10 minutes until tender and translucent. Raise heat slightly and stir several minutes until very lightly browned.
  3. Stir in the grated and dried zucchini and garlic. Toss and turn for 5 to 6 minutes until the zucchini is almost tender.
  4. Sprinkle in the flour, stir over moderate heat for 2 minutes, and remove from heat.
  5. Gradually stir in the 2 1/2 cups warm liquid (zucchini juices plus milk, heated gently in a pan — don’t let it get so hot that the milk curdles!). Make sure the flour is well blended and smooth.
  6. Return over moderately high heat and bring to the simmer, stirring. Remove from the heat again, stir in the blanched rice and all but 2 tablespoons of the cheese. Taste very carefully for seasoning. Turn into buttered baking dish, strew remaining cheese on top, and dribble the olive oil over the cheese.
  7. About half an hour before serving, bring to simmer on top of stove (you can skip this step if your baking dish isn’t flameproof), then set in upper third of a preheated 425-degree F oven until tian is bubbling and top has browned nicely. The rice should absorb all the liquid.


Copyright 2011-2014  by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick. 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.


Poet’s Beat on Jazz Canvas ~ Take This River by Henry Dumas featuring Seattle Women’s Jazz Orchestra – “Pura Emoción”

Courtesy of  Corey Barksdale Abstract Arts
Courtesy of Corey Barksdale Abstract Arts

Good Morning!  I came across this poem by Henry Dumas.  It speaks to a special place in my heart considering my journey and enjoying visual and acoustic portraits of the challenges we all face in life.  Welcome to my world!  Peace Out!  JBC 😎




by  Henry Dumas

We move up a spine of earth
That bridges the river and the canal.
And where a dying white log, finger-like,
Floating off the bank, claws at the slope,
We stumble, and we laugh.
We slow beneath the moon’s eye;
Near the shine of the river’s blood face,
The canal’s veil of underbrush sweats frost,
And this ancient watery scar retains
The motionless tears of men with troubled spirits.
For like the whole earth,
This land of mine is soaked….

Shadows together,
We fall on the grass without a word.
We had run this far from the town.
We had taken the bony course, rocky and narrow,
He leading, I following.
Our breath streams into October
As the wind sucks our sweat and a leaf…

“We have come a long long way, mahn.”
He points over the river
Where it bends west, then east,
And leaves our sight.

“I guess we have,” I pant. “I can hear
My angry muscles talking to my bones.”
And we laugh.

The hood of night is coming.
Up the river, down the river
The sky and night kiss between the wind.

“You know,” Ben says, “this is where
I brought Evelyn….
Look. We sat on that log
And watched a river egret
Till it flew away with the evening.

“But mahn, she is a funny girl, Aiee!
But she looks like me Jamaica woman….
But she asks me all the questions, mahn.
I’m going to miss her mahn, Aiee!

“But I will . . . Ewie. Ewie I love you,
But I do Ewie . . . Ewie . . . ,” he says
And blows a kiss into the wind.
Broken shadows upon the canal
Form and blur, as leaves shudder again…again

“Tell me this, Ben,” I say.
“Do you love American girls?
You know, do most Jamaicans
Understand this country?”

We almost laugh. Our sweat is gone.
He whispers “Aiee” on a long low breath

And we turn full circle to the river,
Our backs to the blind canal.

“But I’m not most Jamaicans….
I’m only Ben, and tomorrow I’ll be gone,
And … Ewie, I love you….
Aiee! My woman, how can I love you?”

Blurred images upon the river
Flow together and we are there….

“What did she ask you?” I say.
“Everything and nothing, maybe.
But I couldn’t tell her all.”
We almost laugh. “‘Cause I
Don’t know it all, mahn.

“Look, see over there….
We walked down from there
Where the park ends
And the canal begins

Where that red shale rock
Down the slope there . . . see?
Sits itself up like a figure,
We first touch our hands . . .
And up floats this log,
Not in the river
But in the canal there
And it’s slimy and old
And I kick it back . . .
And mahn, she does too.
Then she asks me:
Bennie, if I cry
When you leave would you
Remember me more?’
Aiee! She’s a natural goddess!
And she asks me:
‘Bennie, when you think of Jamaica
Can you picture me there?’
And while she’s saying this,
She’s reaching for the river
Current like she’s feeling its pulse.
She asks me:
‘Bennie, America means something to you?
Maybe our meeting, our love? has
Something to do with America,
Like the river? Do you know Bennie?’
Aiee, Aiee, mahn I tell you
She might make me marry . . .
Aiee! Ewie, Jamaica . . . moon!
And how can I say anything?
I tell her:
Africa, somewhere is Africa.
Do you understand,’ I say to her,
And she look at me with the moon,
And I hear the wind and the leaves
And we do not laugh . . .
We are so close now no wind between us . . .
I say to her:
‘Ewie, I do not know America
Except maybe in my tears….
Maybe when I look out from Jamaica
Sometimes, at the ocean water….
Maybe then I know this country….
But I know that we, we Ewie….
I know that this river goes and goes.
She takes me to the ocean,
The mother of water
And then I am home.’
And she tells me she knows
By the silence in her eyes.
I reach our hands again down
And bathe them in the night current
And I say: ‘Take this river, Ewie….’
Aiee, wind around us, Aiee my God!
Only the night knows how we kiss.”

He stands up.
A raincloud sailing upon a leak, whirs
In the momentary embrace of our memories….
“Let’s run,” I say, “and warm these bones.”
But he trots a bit, then stops,
Looking at his Jamaica sky.
“Let’s run the long road west
Down the river road,” I say,
“And I’ll tell you of my woman….Aiee.”
We laugh, but we stop.
And then, up the spiny ridge
We race through the trees
Like spirited fingers of frosty air.
We move toward some blurred
Mechanical light edged like an egret
And swallowed by the night.
Into this land of mine.
And the wind is cold, a prodding
Finger at our backs.
The still earth. Except for us.
And from behind that ebon cloak,
The moon observes….
And we do not laugh
And we do not cry, And where the land slopes,
We take the river….
But we do not stumble,
We do not laugh,
We do not cry,
And we do not stop….

Online Source: http://www2.mdcc.edu/north/asili/volii_3/nu00031.htm
Copyright © Loretta Dumas and Eugene Redmond, 1989/99



Copyright 2011-2014  by Jannat Marie/Jazzybeatchick. 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.