[Dixielandjazz] a little slam bang humor

[eupher dude]

no, I have nothing against those purveyors of the percussive arts.  Honestly.

So many drummers, so little time...

(ducking)

steve

 A jazz trio is playing a gig at an upscale
 nightclub. They play a classic bebop tune at a fleet tempo with grace 
and ease. Then comes a Wayne Shorter composition filled with mysterious 
harmonies, poignant melodies and daring improvisations. Next they 
present a medley of lesser-known Harold Arlen songs that only a 
connoisseur would recognize, again played with elegant styling and 
exquisite taste. 

 
 The whole evening has been one dazzling performance after another.
 Though the trio is playing background music and not a formal concert, 
the audience can sense that the musical display they are witnessing is 
of such a high caliber that the musicians should be allowed to perform 
as they please without interference. 

 
 Then a well-dressed, middle-aged man approaches the bandstand and 
asks the pianist "Can you play Laura's Theme from Dr. Zhivago?" The 
pianist tells the man that they are jazz musicians and that they usually
 don't take requests of that sort.

 
 The man reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out three one 
hundred dollar bills, which he lays out on the piano. The pianist looks 
at the bass player and drummer and says "Lara's Theme in G." 
 

 They play the tune in the fashion of the original version, the pianist 
emulating the Balalaika textures with a delicate upper register tremolo.
 The song obviously does not present the same level of difficulty that 
the trio is accustomed to dealing with. 

 
 As the pianist plays, he absent-mindedly gazes at the soundboard 
of his ebony Steinway B and wonders about the grain in the wood.  "How 
would the tonal characteristics be altered if the grain of the 
soundboard ran perpendicular to the strings rather than parallel", he 
silently asks himself. 

 
 The bass player amuses himself with an assortment of well-placed 
double-stops and harmonics. He daydreams as he looks at the top of his 
mid-nineteenth century double bass made by French master, Paul Claudot, 
and wonders: "How many times has the top been varnished, how did the 
varnish of past years differ from today's, how would the resonance 
properties be affected if there were no varnish at all?" 

 
 The drummer gazes down onto the single ply, medium-weight head of 
his 1950's vintage black oyster pearl snare drum and thinks to himself: 
"One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three."