There’s not much more to it, the jam is jazzy and I’m royal blue. At least I got a spot close to the music. Oh joy silver traps in the house tonight, two saxes a vibraphone and a base – and look the congas in cream just walked in. 20-3-16.
It’s Sunday sundown and I’m so blue. Could also be that I’m just a little bit lethargic after standard schnitzel duly graced, with a garden of greens and cranberry? Maybe; but Melanie sings of stormy days and for a moment, I have visions of veiled lightning, angry trapped in stormy clouds – then Sahrin sings of songbirds – fills the room with rhapsody and without a mic.
To hear and see and feel and think, what again did Theodor say was in this drink?
There’s something worn and real about mokka bar that fits,
on any given Sunday,
And that’s perhaps part of what keeps me coming back for the hits.
Like a trusty old leather shoe freshly polished well sits,
with a sometimes surprising reason, excuse to muse “bei Wein oder Weitzen” and jiggle my bits.
I‘m not really a music man but I’m drawn to what makes the hair stand, and I still dream of being a great singer. The jazz jams on and now Klause is telling me in song – his rendition colourful notes – that I’m his sugar “ honey suckle rose” Fats Waller and Andy Razaf. Oh look a third sax, and before he finds a place to sit the second seems to greet him with an effusive welcome the way only a sax can. There’ll be a sax orgy tonight, with drums and five vocalists. Route 66 and I get to dance with two songbirds – feeling better.