The circle of music. A muse of language. Ups in high and low with downs. The circle complete. Rounding into jazz. Straight roads with curves, paintings without colors, water fountains wet with voices dividing the air. Magnolia sounds catch the June bug, lightening the circle in my chest, setting afire lights, allowing me to see … More CURIOUS LINE
…..and I say, that Lombard Street got the curves to knock the straight out of my shoes, echoing the hallway, sounding on walls cracked from fast songs and babies crying, in a city, under a heaven where angels have gone south, away from broken glass and whiskey breath made of sea foam and cold … More IT IS SO
Rising golden and draining warm onto painted houses and wooden wharfs long streaks of sun touch Coit’s tower and sacred hills. Down on Fillmore and Columbus with class where jazz sits strong and grows pulling like lines of hungry fish snapping at sourdough. Across the golden arms and from … More SOURDOUGH JAZZ
ON DIVISADERO A hill with faces and sidewalks, green shoes and sneakers without laces, chalkboard menus, peppers and onions and bicycles passing apartments with yellow shutters and terracotta pots with flowers reaching over touching heads as buses crawl and street cars sing the cables and pulleys stretch, the youth laugh with tan skin and … More ON DIVISADERO
His jazz is thick, mantled in hair black with twists rich with shine absorbing the lights as his hands push the track of strings chasing demons of his love while fingers run over fences in his mind into shadowed alleys where smoke chokes the air as his eyes close he slaps the bass awakening the … More SLAPPING STRINGS
There’s a slide, a stretch a long slip of breathing out a note where pausing ain’t considered when the soul of air presses and releases a tight hold speaking the easy from the brass of his trombone. A late Friday night jive bleached white a Sunday sound of jazz pushing back the crowd like … More BORN TO HIM
Roger Singer 