I used to live next to a jazz club in Santa Cruz, and the article for City on a Hill Press represented a budding intrigue that evolved into a relationship with the staff of Kuumbwa Jazz.
The Kuumbwa Jazz Center is my neighbor, but we’re not very close. We barely know each other, and I wouldn’t go to them first if I needed flour or an egg.
However, Kuumbwa gives me gifts every other evening. When I’m making dinner in the kitchen or lounging in the living room, I prop my window open and let the hums of a saxophone waft in like the smell of freshly baked bread. Jazz drifts through my apartment and, if I listen close enough, I can hear the applause of a well-fed audience.
The music ebbed and flowed like one big, breathing creature. The creature threw loud and aggressive tantrums onstage and when it tired itself out, it became contemplative and sultry.
Read more at Kuumbwa Jazz: Looking Behind to Move Straight-Ahead.
