Sex and the Jazz Musician: The Brutal Truth!

Sex and the Jazz Musician: The Brutal Truth!
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The following is taken from the chronicles of a gold panel Committee of select persons from the international confines of various state institutions that hold such findings sacred—the long-term commitment of these individuals that have given rant to their multitudinous ravings on this highly personal topic.

In my course of dumpster diving for salvation, I found these discarded records from the Harding administration that are the most revealing about these ubiquitous and reoccurring problems.

And Now the Brutal Truth!

I actually don't know much about the sex life of a jazz musician even though I am one. Based on the knowledge that I have at hand, it seems to me that it would be a very short story indeed, even leaving delusions of grandeur out of it.

So, what the f**k was that all about? Well, I'll tell ya. If you've read this far, very cool—you're my kind of person and I thank you very much. Here's the main reason for this article—and it's been about a half a year since my last one. We here at All About Jazz corporate are, for the most part, housed in very comfortable surroundings and treated very well. But, as I stated, I've really not turned out much in the way of work re: articles and such for a long time, and when passing each other in the hall (that being Mr. Ricci and Mr. Kelman), I find myself avoiding eye contact with either of these gentlemen. When in close proximity of ether of the two, one feels this source of formidable power and a mindset that bespeaks of industry and exploration as in ad astra—to the stars. OK, stay with me now! Here at corporate, a lot of thought is given to the read count that we writers generate on our respective works that we contribute to the site. So for those of you in Bakersfield—since I ain't done much around here except making and throwing paper airplanes at the time clock—well that puts me into a negative position in the asking and or demanding of certain, shall we say, privileges, ya dig?

All right! Onward. I'm sure that many of you reading this, work in a multilayered corporate environment and understand the goings on of the water cooler politics and such. Is there a thing as steno pools anymore? Stenographer; hmm, must look that up—might as well look up water coolers too. In every lifetime the powers that be deem to throw one a nice big, fat, slow ball pitch right down the middle of the strike zone, and all one has to do is swing the bat for that bases—loaded, peak moment, to blossom forth and travel beyond the pale.

OK. A little wordy but this isn't cheer leading 101 we're talking about, man—this is f*@#cking life! A serendipitous (for me) event has very recently occurred here at corporate, in that musicologist (in residence), Dr. Gregory Gumpharter either fell or was pushed out of the window of his corner office on the 23rd floor of the Tristano Tower building (Mr. Ricci's suite on the 28th floor encompasses the entire sq. footage of said floor, giving him a full, panoramic view of both oceans). Now—now do you see what I'm getting at? The title of an article with sex and jazz in it, I know, if people are like me, they will click on it! Yeah! Now do ya dig? Although it seems as though someone of some prominence just recently said, "Mort, most people aren't like you," hmm. Be that as it may. So now that you're hipped , let's get it on!

The miraculous return of Mort Weiss to the scene after an incredible layoff of 40 years?

"Mort Weiss' return to the jazz scene is one of the happier events in the jazz world in the 21st century," internationally acclaimed writer/jazz historian Scott Yanow said about me.

"Mort Weiss is the Rip van Winkle (times two) and the Thomas Edison of jazz," says AAJ.

And there were, and are, many other recognitions of what I had done on August 14, 2001, and how and why I did it. Let me say in all sincerity how much I appreciate that anyone noticed that I was even there. As to the question mark at the subject line of this, well, therein lays the caveat. Ya see, there was no scene that I was returning to. Yes, I had—back in the day in Los Angeles and Hollywood played—jammed, worked with many who would go on to become not only well-known musicians, but also, some legends of the genre. See my archived AAJ article Ornette and Me. Any notoriety that I might have garnered would have been my R&B and R&R Las Vegas years, when I played the tenor sax exclusively but would always be practicing and making sessions on the clarinet, whereever I was. The clarinet was, and is, the only horn that I ever really worked on, and as I've stated in my archived AAJ article, Trane Clones and the Noose of Technology, I'm not particularly thrilled that it is the axe my folks gave me to play—but at the time (1944) it was what the guitar is today, oh yeah!

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