Everything I would have written

Sorr-ry I haven't written in a while.

Mel (my sax teacher), whose real name is actually Colin, invited me to see him play a set at a Greek restaurant last Friday. He said they were a trio "with an incredible bassist and an incredible drummer". I brought a truckload of people with me. Fab, both his parents, Cosmic clock, Sylvia and Wallis. He played tenor throughout both their sets. I recognised only one song they played, but I don't know the name.

During his solos, he never played any light-speed passages or anything. He always took his time, and his thoughts and ideas were extremely clear. I forget the bassist's name, but as Sylvia remarked as soon as she sat down, "They have an excellent bass player". Whenever we applauded at the end of one of his solos, he would nod at us.

The drummer's name was Joe, and he was very young. He had guitar face: drummer's edition. But he was entitled to it. I recall the first time I saw a live jazz band at an opening at the art gallery. The guitarist had an expression that is probably exclusive to jazz players. Kind of like he was high on his music, or as Jimmy Ricardo once put it, "He is having an inner communion with his God, the musical note". And that is how Joe looked, but much more over-the-top. Everyone in the place obviously loved him. His solos were almost like their own pieces of music. My new favourite living drummer (my favourite dead one being Shelly Manne, who played on Sonny Rollins's Way out west).

Everyone talked about it the whole ride home. I think everyone had an excellent time. When I asked Cosmic, so did you enjoy yourself this evening, she said she was surprised how good they were. I said yes, he said they had an incredible bassist and an incredible drummer. She said, "And he wasn't lying. But what he failed to mention is that he was good at playing, too".

On the drive, there is a corner where no business can succeed. There have been about three restaurants in the last three years. About a month ago, a new cafe opened there called The End. Stella and I went there to see if it was frequent-worthy. There are no coffee shops in our neighbourhood (no good ones anyway). It was clean, you could order just a coffee or a whole meal, the waitress had a lovely accent, there were a googolplex different places to sit (leather furniture, even), and the food was cheap but perfectly good. Five out of five fish on the Bishop scale!

Fab and I met at said cafe on Sunday and had dinner. We then proceeded back to Stella's to jam, the outcome of which can be heard on our blog. Glissando isn't a band name, it's just a cool word. Stella has forbidden us from discussing a band name until we have recorded at least six compositions. We will continue tomorrow before Eureka Seven, which unfortunately has been moved to eleven o'clock.