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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Monday, September 7   >>

JUST THE [FOUR] OF US

"Hey, man," The Tony said, "there's a jazz/soul/Motown jam session party in the westside tonight. Wanna go? I hear it's gonna be ridiculous!"

So as The Tony, The 'Tasha, The Pooch, The Drew and I warmed up with enough booze to muster up the courage to go up on stage, we arrived at this house where we immediately hear some straight ahead jazz from the streets.

Upon arrival it was evident we'd be the only non-black people there. And eventually we played music with them. Some vamps, some originals, Withers, Stevie, etc. They really liked us, but we liked them way more. I still have an erection from hearing a phenomenally talented soprano saxophonist solo over my chord changes as if they were his own. It was so fucking LEGITIMATE.

It was, quite honestly, a dream come true. These people didn't just play the classics -- they lived the classics. To get props from them is pretty priceless, moreso than the successful networking. That wasn't just fun. It was artistic home.