nightclubs. swaying to the music in someone else’s arms. leaning my head against his shoulders and melting into him. never thinking for a moment it would end too soon and never be again. hope stands still in the middle of the dance floor, but she has no partner and cannot dance anymore. she fades into the smoke of the room. the music slowly dies.
nightclubs. swaying to the music in someone else’s arms. leaning my head against his shoulders and melting into him. never thinking for a moment it would end too soon and never be again.
Vietnam, 1962. I remember downing my Scotch and smoking a nice Cuban cigar in the local pub. Then, this charming lady approaches me and tells me I killed her husband. I almost felt sorry for her.
You’re so awesome and all that jazz. You speak Chinese and you like Philosophy and you can dance. My stomach is convoluted into a billion tiny knots every time I see you even though you always go out of your way to speak to me. Your sister hates my guts, though, and truth be told I’m just not pretty enough for you.
Jazz music sweeps through the window as I’m reading, like a mellow invisible wire. My neighbor’s playing saxophone, at night, a deep, slow and smooth rhythm. Everyone hears it. Everyone loves it. The city suddenly seems more attractive.
The barely lit room was filled with the acrid smoke that we bought from the performers before the show, a sales pitch that helped them sell twice as many tapes at the end of the night. It was a night for a buzz, that’s for sure: the buzz you get when the s
Jazz.
They always called me Jazz,
But it always rolled of their tongues as if they were spitting it out in spite.
Jazz.
I hated the name.
But it looks like it’ll stick forever.
Jazzy was her name, my friend’s dog. Now I feel weird every time I go to her hosue, which isn’t often. I can still feel her there, still smell her. But I can’t see her because she’s not there. She’s gone.
jaz,,, exact la asta nu ma gandeam vreodata ca o sa primesc ca subiect liber. insa imi face o deosebita place sa pot scrie despre aceasta capodopera pamanteana numita jazz… trometele, chitarile,
i took a jazz class at west valley. it was really boring but still a liettle interesting to know the history. the teacher was some dude that was kind of weird. i took this class with my friend.
As i walked down the busy street to the building where i was going to meet her, i heard the sound. So mesmerizing and rhythmic. Following the sound, i walked until i found where it was coming from. There, on stage was a couple of people playing the trombone, trumpet and saxophone. It was the annual jazz festival. I used to go every year, until i got consumed with work. For the next hour or so, i just stood there listening, fixed to the spot. My head clear, and no worries in my head.Not daring to take a step, for fear of breaking this peace.
i cant help but notice the jazz music as i stand in the hott dark corner of the smoky dance room. i’m alone because the music is sad, sad jazz music that makes everyone just STOP AND THINK.
jazz festivals. lots of wine spilt on snazzy snappy shirts, flannel, ironic hipster bullshit. do they even enjoy it? or do they torture themselves for the sake of cool?
All—that—jazz! How I miss singing in musicals—something I did a lot as a kid. Now I must be content to sit in the audience and watch my child perform. It’s hard not being able to break into song and dance on a moment’s notice.
I don’t know much about this type of music. I’ve heard the saying ‘All that Jazz’… Actually, come to think of it, ‘All that Jazz’ is a song lyric from a musical…
jazz hands – the big finish – seems like this routine has been done to death, but it still has so much appeal that kind of transcends time – gotta love broadway
She tapped her foot to the beat of his jazz music. He came out of the kitchen with two drinks in his hand, flashing her a smile. “I hope you didn’t have to wait long,” he said.
nightclubs. swaying to the music in someone else’s arms. leaning my head against his shoulders and melting into him. never thinking for a moment it would end too soon and never be again. hope stands still in the middle of the dance floor, but she has no partner and cannot dance anymore. she fades into the smoke of the room. the music slowly dies.
nightclubs. swaying to the music in someone else’s arms. leaning my head against his shoulders and melting into him. never thinking for a moment it would end too soon and never be again.
jazz players use instruments to express themselves. but, still i rathelisten to rock.
Vietnam, 1962. I remember downing my Scotch and smoking a nice Cuban cigar in the local pub. Then, this charming lady approaches me and tells me I killed her husband. I almost felt sorry for her.
jazz. jazz music. get jazzed up. jazz hands, or fingers. jazzy mcgee, jazzy mcgoo. jazz. the end.
You’re so awesome and all that jazz. You speak Chinese and you like Philosophy and you can dance. My stomach is convoluted into a billion tiny knots every time I see you even though you always go out of your way to speak to me. Your sister hates my guts, though, and truth be told I’m just not pretty enough for you.
Jazz music sweeps through the window as I’m reading, like a mellow invisible wire. My neighbor’s playing saxophone, at night, a deep, slow and smooth rhythm. Everyone hears it. Everyone loves it. The city suddenly seems more attractive.
This jazz tune in my ear. Yesterday’s thought. You play with the rules in a new music, from yesterday. The same form constantly on the run.
The barely lit room was filled with the acrid smoke that we bought from the performers before the show, a sales pitch that helped them sell twice as many tapes at the end of the night. It was a night for a buzz, that’s for sure: the buzz you get when the s
jazz is awesome. i like jazz jazz is part of history i like my jazz teacher all that jazz fun performance great movie show tunes great music
Jazz.
They always called me Jazz,
But it always rolled of their tongues as if they were spitting it out in spite.
Jazz.
I hated the name.
But it looks like it’ll stick forever.
Jazzy was her name, my friend’s dog. Now I feel weird every time I go to her hosue, which isn’t often. I can still feel her there, still smell her. But I can’t see her because she’s not there. She’s gone.
jaz,,, exact la asta nu ma gandeam vreodata ca o sa primesc ca subiect liber. insa imi face o deosebita place sa pot scrie despre aceasta capodopera pamanteana numita jazz… trometele, chitarile,
i took a jazz class at west valley. it was really boring but still a liettle interesting to know the history. the teacher was some dude that was kind of weird. i took this class with my friend.
I like jazz. Jazz is smooth. It’s straight from the heart and soul. Noone can say if its right or wrong.
As i walked down the busy street to the building where i was going to meet her, i heard the sound. So mesmerizing and rhythmic. Following the sound, i walked until i found where it was coming from. There, on stage was a couple of people playing the trombone, trumpet and saxophone. It was the annual jazz festival. I used to go every year, until i got consumed with work. For the next hour or so, i just stood there listening, fixed to the spot. My head clear, and no worries in my head.Not daring to take a step, for fear of breaking this peace.
i cant help but notice the jazz music as i stand in the hott dark corner of the smoky dance room. i’m alone because the music is sad, sad jazz music that makes everyone just STOP AND THINK.
The smoked filled room pulsed with the rhythm of the piano and bass, and wave after wave of sound cascaded over the gin-soaked patrons.
I would love to jazz up my life but may need to learn to dance first.
jazz festivals. lots of wine spilt on snazzy snappy shirts, flannel, ironic hipster bullshit. do they even enjoy it? or do they torture themselves for the sake of cool?
All—that—jazz! How I miss singing in musicals—something I did a lot as a kid. Now I must be content to sit in the audience and watch my child perform. It’s hard not being able to break into song and dance on a moment’s notice.
smooth music, trumpets, saxaphones, flutes
rhythm, drums
makes you move, makes you dance, makes you sing
smooth sounds that sooth the soul.
I don’t know much about this type of music. I’ve heard the saying ‘All that Jazz’… Actually, come to think of it, ‘All that Jazz’ is a song lyric from a musical…
Saxophone. Paired with your dark, deep and sexy voice. I surrender to slumber and wake up in your arms.
jazz hands – the big finish – seems like this routine has been done to death, but it still has so much appeal that kind of transcends time – gotta love broadway
She tapped her foot to the beat of his jazz music. He came out of the kitchen with two drinks in his hand, flashing her a smile. “I hope you didn’t have to wait long,” he said.
Le temps ne détruit que l’éphémère
arrêtez ce temps idiot,ce n’est pas celui du souvenir,ni du plaisir ,gardez le pour vous
I often wallow in the songs of yesterday, feeling those old feelings and all that jazz…