This music that was supposed to only come from tapes like in any restaurant. Something would happened. One bird will start to do a little jazz thing, and another bird will start to answer.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I just got to hear every note. After I left Birdland, I started working at the Jazz Gallery. In the end, I still couldn't play, but I knew how to listen. I was probably the world's best listener.
All birds are incipient or would-be songsters in the spring. I find corroborative evidence of this even in the crowing of the cock.
In fact, I heard Bird first, and had got well into listening to him. You know, it's the kind of accidental thing that awareness of a player is: what's available, what somebody happens to play for you.
Jazz can be a blank canvas full of possibilities.
In a broader sense, the rhythms of nature, large and small - the sounds of wind and water, the sounds of birds and insects - must inevitably find their analogues in music.
As long as there are people trying to play music in a sincere way, there will be some jazz.
Just as the bird sings or the butterfly soars, because it is his natural characteristic, so the artist works.
When I'd hear something that sounded like I could follow it - most of those big band jazz tunes are blues anyway - I would hum it and play with the fiddle while I was humming.
A bird in hand is a certainty. But a bird in the bush may sing.
A tune has to resonate with whatever is happening around it.
No opposing quotes found.