[Verse: Thomas Stanley]
It is a peculiar word, jazz
Its illegitimate origins lost in the murky brothels where it was conceived and birthed
But many observers have told us that jazz used to mean sex
And maybe it needs to go back to meaning sex
To being identified with coitus and copulation
Hyper-creativity, fecundity, and birth
Ultimately, perhaps it is good that the people abandoned jazz
Replaced it with musical products better suited to capitalism's designs
Now jazz jumps up like Lazarus if we allow it
To rediscover itself as a living music
A subvеrsive suture of inner movеment, fertility, tension, and release
Released now from the prison bars of metrical stability
And the black and white keys of chromatic incarceration
Swing becomes a quantum oscillation of adventure
An expedition into chapters of Black history that did not survive the fires at Alexandria
A journey into Black futures that have not been lived and will not be realized
Unless and until we can dive into Willie Dixon's "Spoonful"
And bathe ourselves in that jazz
Pour it into our scalps
Massage it into our aching joints
Paint it across the soles of our feet
Then we can dance the Juba
Into New Congo Square
That Sonny has built for us
Between the rings of Saturn
Between C-sharp and B-natural
Be natural
Be natural