Wednesday, August 10, 2011


Just show me the basics
-where my fingers go
-when to wait for the laugh
and I’ll tinker away
fashioning my own
version of it.

No technique
but to listen
for my own voice.

I’ll hack my way
through the jungle
of formal training

and come out
with some weird
twisted mutant,

one with a reassuring

to myself

and whatever it is
you call


  1. whatever it is you call this...

    ...well done.

  2. Bruddah mine, loved this.

    I'm not a big fan of formal training. Usually it ends up like all the Japanese sax players who invaded the American jazz scene in the 80s: Technically, they were virtuosos, but they were almost to a player soulless automatons, rehashing Coltrane and showing off at the expense of the song.

    You dig? Love, Ameleh

  3. I hear you, with this, Buddah! Formal training isn't all it is cracked up to be!

    (now following your blog!)