Jazz music, when sung by a Jay, a wild Jay, has a way of soothing traffics hum and stalling others in mid flight. A little Aretha Franklin, a touch of Etta James, yes'm, it is the golden ears of legend.
If we all have a bird that we can claim, a song bird that sits perched in our chest, that preens itself and considers it self the most lovely thing of all and then when the clock strikes twelve, or the moment hits, we open our mouths and that little bravado of a beast sings forth then I must have a mockingbird. She's kindly. But what she loves is others songs. Especially that of a Jay, sometimes the Jay will stop and sing with this little black tweet and oh how her chest puffs up, she constantly prepares for these moments and attempts harmonies with a glance from Jay sticks to melody and then will break forth with a little soulful improvisation and a few songs later and a whole song album later with many lines messed up or purposefully played with the Jay is singing by herself once more and the mockingbird sits, claps, hums, taps and mimicks whatever she can conjure up at the time. It was fun. Real fun.
