Man Joe’s feel is so good – I love the sizzle on that ride cymbal– He’s been checking out some Art Taylor – and Billy Higgins – Fuck that feels good – Could stay grooving like this forever – I’m in it with him we’re locked up – Webber’s line – when he stays up high like that walking and then drops down all of the sudden – so swinging – Perfect notes – We’re locked – He hears the harmony I’m implying –
But then something would shift – it could be a small trifle, but it would set me off, and I couldn’t come back – for you once descend into pot paranoia, it’s often very hard to find your way back to calmness and ease.
Are they dragging? Why is Joe doing that Philly Joe Jones rimshot thing on the fourth beat of every bar? Is it because I’m not grooving hard enough? It feels like they’re dragging – but no – that means I’m rushing – Shit – This tempo is too slow – I can’t play tempos this slow – Why did I call this tune to play? – I sound corny – My feel is choppy – That lick sounded so stupid – I’m just playing this fake be-bop shit – I’m a phony – What the fuck am I doing up here – Everybody’s watching me – They know that I know that they know that it’s lame – I’m blushing – Fuck – I wish I could just get up and split –
“There was this musician’s girl who had a bad case for Bird’s music. She left her fiancé to follow Charlie. The musician went out looking for the girl and found her registered in the same hotel as Parker. She had asked for and managed to get a room right next door to Bird. She had put a chair against the wall, and she would sit there, her ear glued to the plaster, listening to Bird’s incessant practicing. Her boyfriend took another chair and joined her, the both of them holding hands and listening through the wall.”—August Blume (in ‘Bird: The Legend Of Charlie Parker’)
Monk: It’s the High Priest of Bebop talking! Nellie: (Laughing) Oh, God. Monk: The one and only Thelonious Monk. The greatest pianist in the world! Nellie: Who’d you say you were? Monk: The High Priest of Bebop. Nellie: And? Monk: The one and only great musician. Nellie: And? Monk: The greatest musician who ever lived. Nellie: And? Monk: Huh? How much other shit you want me to be? Nellie: I don’t know, darling, anything you want to be.