Jazz on a Summer's Day in Paris

Paris sizzles in the summertime

It was so hot the birds weren't singing. Or moving even. They too sat exhausted on the branches of the pine avenue in the Bois de Vincennes. Some were even trying to find shelter under the bonsai collection. Not the peacocks though. They had flopped under the heritage apple and pear collection. Others congregated in the willows hoping some cool air would be wafted from the lake.

Pierre and Violette zigzagged through the pathways in order to seek out the shadiest route. A SatNav tracking of their route would have made them appear drunk or lost or both. At least there were some shadows as it was now well into the afternoon. Their conversation was sporadic but this was not a result of the heat. They had been coming separately but simultaneously to the conclusion that maybe their relationship of the last sixteen months might be nearing the end of its natural course.

All Over Now?

They had met at university in the history faculty and had started chatting about the mistake they had both made in studying a completely useless subject. After all, they agreed, no one had ever learned anything from history. There was even the phrase 'history repeats itself' so it wasn't really worthy of academic study. It had however been useful in getting them away from the provinces into Paris. Pierre came from Rouvroy, a small town in the northern wastelands between Douai and Lens in the flattest part of Le Nord where the only lumps on the horizon were formed by slag heaps from the coal mining industry. Violette had a little more variety in the scenery of Alsace but what kind of name for a French village was Muttersholtz?

Their first conversations had been about the boredom of their childhood, dissatisfaction with the course and an admiration for each other's appearance. They had never moved in with each other and had sex on an occasional basis at one or other of their student flats when other inhabitants were away. Pierre told Violette that he loved her long brown hair that fell half way down her back or when she was supine he could play with it just below her breasts after one of their love afternoons. He also loved her pale oval face and sparkling blue eyes. Pierre was slim, athletic and tall but what appealed to Violette, as to many women, was nothing physical but the fact that he listened and was kind, both rare qualities in 19-year-old males.

A Fragile Affair

For four semesters they had sort of been going out together, were sort of boyfriend and girlfriend, but it had all been a loose largely unspoken arrangement in which they'd gone to the cinema to watch a few films, they'd been to the odd pop concert and enjoyed a few meals together. They hung out with a larger group when in college between lectures but were regarded as an item by most of the group. In some ways you could call it a typical late teenage university liaison. The future is uncertain, the present, especially at first, is a bit scary and serious commitment is the last thing on anyone's mind. Casual sex, companionship, peer credibility are the priorities when you first move away from home.

Well You Needn't

Pierre's head was filled with a jazz song he liked very much—odd that he'd never played it to her. It was a Carmen McRae vocal version of a Thelonious Monk tune called "Well You Needn't" and one verse kept running through in a loop as they walked, skipping from side to side to catch the best shade:

You're bending my ear
Well you needn't
You're calling me dear
Well you needn't
You're acting sincere
Well you needn't
It's over now
It's over now

Just as Pierre was thinking he'd probably be hearing these words from Violette, she suddenly stopped. Pierre was apprehensive thinking this might be the moment when she told him they were through. Was he prepared for it? What would he say to her? Instead she said:

"Listen, what's that music?"

"It's coming from over there. I think there's a bandstand that way. I pass it when I jog in the park."

The Beat Beckons

They moved off in the direction of the music, curious to see who was playing what in the mid-afternoon heat. As they approached it became clear that it was a jazz quintet and that the sound they had first heard had been a blistering tenor saxophone solo supported by enthusiastic bass and drums and occasional chords from a keyboard. When the bandstand came into sight they could also see a trumpet player waiting his turn to solo. Above the curved shell that provided the players some respite from the heat was the legend 'ETE DE JAZZ DANS LES PARCS'—obviously some sort of Paris-wide festival that they had just happened upon. The organisers had sensibly placed a series of awnings and gazebos to give the onlookers some shade and about a hundred and twenty people were sitting and standing admiring the sophisticated sounds emanating from the musicians.

Do We Even Like Jazz?

Neither Pierre nor Violette had touched upon a liking for jazz during their time together, attending mainstream popular music gigs on a few occasions. The tenor player ended his solo with a series of sustained honking low notes and, after a slight pause for the loud applause that followed, the trumpet player screamed into his first chorus at the top of the range and then scythed his way through some descending scales that mirrored the end of the previous player's solo before taking the tune off where his own imagination led. At the end of his solo there was more applause and then the whole quintet came together to play the final choruses of a tune that Pierre now recognised as "All Blues." They both now recalled that they had listened to the seminal Miles Davis album Kind Of Blue (Columbia, 1959) and indeed Pierre had it in his iTunes library. This unifying moment was further cemented as the band launched into "Summertime," a tune everybody recognises. It helped of course that they were there at the beginning because while the solos often contain snatches of the original tune they do go off to explore it in the musician's personal response to the music at that particular time and the basic tune can become somewhat difficult to discern. Pierre whispered that he also had a version of Miles Davis playing "Summertime" which they should listen to sometime. As the tune came to an end the saxophonist put his instrument on its stand and made an announcement.

• "Hi everyone! Thanks for coming. My name is David Sánchez and I'm from Puerto Rico. I'd like to introduce my band and then we're going to play a couple more tunes which I'm planning to record next month."
  
  
• "That's nice, said Violette. It's good to name check all the musicians. That doesn't happen much at the gigs we've been to."
  
  
• "Sorry I couldn't help overhearing—it's very common practice in jazz." This contribution was from a young man who looked like he could be another student.
  
  
• "No problem, thanks for the information," said Pierre. "Do you go to jazz concerts a lot?"
  
  
• "I do. My name is Michel by the way. I'm studying jazz piano at the Ecole Normal Cortot here in Paris. Oh here we go again."
  
  
• "The next tune is called 'Canto a Loiza' and is a homage to a town in Puerto Rico that means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy it."
  

A low bass introduction was joined by the piano and then the trumpet and saxophone launched into a tune that had both lively upbeat and more thoughtful passages. The three listeners nodded in time to the infectious Caribbean beats as ensemble playing and impressive solos followed. The next tune was followed by an encore and then gig was over and while the musicians had generated plenty, the heat of the day was beginning to lose some of its fire.

A New Friend and A New Interest

• "Nice to meet you Michel and thanks for all the other background you've given us. It's made me want to go to many more jazz concerts."
  
  
• "That's brilliant, Pierre."
  
  
• "Me too," said Violette. "We haven't done that together."
  
  
• "We have a student performance at the Conservatoire in two weeks' time. Shall I take your number and send you details?"
  
  
• "That would be great."
  

With numbers safely cached they parted and Pierre and Violette walked south through the park, passing the hippodrome and crossing the Marne River before deciding to take a drink in the Pavillon Bleu on the corner of Avenue Foch. They settled at a table under the awning and ordered a beer and a white wine spritzer.

"Well that was a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect an afternoon of music. And what a nice guy Michel was. I look forward to hearing him play."

Violette leaned in and gave Pierre an unexpected kiss on the cheek. The arrival of the waiter put his reply on hold.

"It's funny that we've hardly ever listened to jazz together. Like most people on the planet I have a CD copy of Kind of Blue, but I haven't played it for ages—I did rip it into iTunes. I really enjoyed the energy and originality of that band. What was he called? David Sanchez?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty certain that's what he said, the David Sanchez Quintet. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. A lot of jazz just sounds like noise, but this was very enjoyable. They looked as if they were enjoying themselves too which really helps. Salut!"

Violette sipped her spritzer and took a strand of hair in her left hand and started to twiddle it in a way that so many women do. Is it a sign of nervousness, unease or just boredom? Pierre watched her fingers twisting wondering again if this was the time for the uncomfortable but necessary conversation.

"Salut! I needed this. Shame they didn't have a bar at the bandstand. Jazz goes down better with beer or wine I find."

"I can still hear it now buzzing in my ears so the enjoyment is doubled."

Her hair twiddling became quite fevered. Surely this was it.

"I think we both know that when we met up this afternoon we were going to have a 'serious' talk about 'us.'"Finally, she got the words out they'd both been expecting.

"Yes, we'd been sort of drifting apart and I wondered whether we have a future together. Whether it's over between us."

There they were, the words he'd expected, reinforced by Pierre's earworm from McRae/Monk. But it didn't end there this time.

"This afternoon has changed that a bit. I've really enjoyed your company and maybe there are more things we'd enjoy if we tried a bit more. What do you think?"

"Today has been fun, but you're right we have been seeing less of each other, we haven't slept together for a fortnight so it all seems a bit pointless and vague."

Decision Time

Ever the organiser, Pierre suggested they list the pros and cons of splitting up or carrying on. Their discussions were animated by placing sugar and sweetener sachets from the ceramic box into rows—white sugar packets for STAY, pink sweetener sachets for SPLIT. Sex was good but could be better if more frequent. Interests in common—art galleries, the environment, pop music and now maybe add jazz. Interests not shared—literature, cooking, jogging, cycling, swimming, social media. That put quite a few pinks in a row from both of them. Other prospects for boyfriend/girlfriend? No from both sides so a sugar sachet gets added. This is hard work and they need another drink. So, the waiter is called over and asked for the same again. After a second Salut, Violette who has now stopped torturing her hair says:

"This is an interesting exercise and it looks like we have less to keep us together than tell us we should split. But I don't have any other close male friends, I'm not bi or lesbian and I do like having sex with you so maybe we should give it a go."

"I wonder if we could each move out from our flatmates and find a double room somewhere that we could share. Perhaps being together more would be better. You could teach me to cook for example. I only ever do take-aways or ready meals with my flatmates and it's a) boring and b) not very healthy."

"And maybe I could find out what you find enjoyable about jogging. I've never seen the point myself and I'd much rather go for a swim."

"I'm a terrible swimmer so I get embarrassed in the pool so I don't see me joining you there. But I suppose I could try. Maybe take some lessons."

"It looks like we're talking ourselves into staying together. I didn't expect this at the start of the afternoon."

"Like you, I don't have any other close girlfriends, I do like you a lot and maybe we just need to work a bit harder at it."

"They do say relationships don't just happen; they need work."

"There's another famous saying 'When you are not talking, there are lots of things that don't get said.' I think that's how we started out this afternoon but now we've shared some music and sat and talked I feel a lot happier with the idea of going on going out with you."

"Let's drink a toast—to us!"

"Salut à nous!"

Their ensuing deep embrace was interrupted by the waiter's polite throat clear asking if they'd like more drinks or the menu.

"No, just the bill please," said Pierre and took a note from his wallet.

"I don't think anyone's home at my place today. Shall we go there and see what happens?"

"That's great, let's go quickly via mine. I want to get something."

The Power of Miles

In fact, Pierre collected his CD of Kind of Blue and they spent the early evening making slow and intricate love to each other with an intensity that neither had felt before. They stopped briefly as they heard the tune they recognised from the park, "All Blues," the plaintive opening of which brought them to a halt. But they gently eased back into synchronicity with the tune's bubbling rhythms and the languid solo from Miles Davis, a jauntier one from Cannonball Adderley and the more urgent climactic strains of John Coltrane's tenor saxophone.

While the recorded sounds were a brilliant accompaniment to their evening it was the shared excitement of the live jazz experience that had heightened Pierre and Violette's sensibilities, helped them to talk about what they had previously attempted to hide and finally discover a new way forward together. Maybe the freedom of the players to make up music in the improvisations of jazz had freed them from their own inhibitions.

"Violette, it's great, I feel a new chapter opening and maybe a whole book."

"Literature was one of pink sachets, I recall, so let's make a reading list—we could run our own book club."

"And maybe tomorrow we start looking for somewhere to move in together. Are you really up for that?"

"Yeah. I think I am and I'm certainly happy to give it a go. Thanks for asking though. One of the plusses about you is that you are thoughtful and seem to care about other people's feelings. Not all men are like that."

"You're making me blush. Come here I need to hide my face ..."