Layla Sings (For Ella) |
 I'm sitting here with my girl Layla, she's lookin cute all dressed up shiny in her silver evening dress, and I hold her close to me and feel the music swaying all around us. She does this little shimmy shimmy move to the music, she looks me in the eye with a funny look-she wants to dance. I look around the dark ballroom of the Sheraton Waikiki Hotel; I can make out the shiny evening gowns and the smooth black tuxedos of the people in the Audience. I just sit there, play it cool, tapping my foot, Layla starts to get restless in my lap, the music sweeps her off my feet, and she grabs the sleeve of my tux and I stand up. The band is playing some old Gershwin Standard, I can hear the melody singing out loud, the feel of the soloist peeps out a like a distinct voice that singing to the audience. The voice of the lone trumpet playing "Someone to watch over me" sings a clear song, the voice of a lady named Ella who brought out the beauty of the song. Jazz music is one of the most expressive and artistic-It is the construction paper that he or she can make their own unique finger-painting song. The dark tones contrast the smoky background piano. Layla's ready now, she can't wait anymore, so I smooth out the sides of my tux coat, straighten my vest and pick Layla back up and bring her to my lips. I used to make friend of my friend who carried his horn where ever he went, and he would always be polishing it and oiling it down in his 150$ case. He treated it like it was his girl or something. I thought it was funny, so I named my Trumpet Layla. The Cymbal crashes and slow bass line gives way to an upbeat Sinatra Standard-Time after time comes up and again, Trombone solo, and I sing with Layla, cutting through the dark auditorium of the ballroom. Layla's clear dark voice comes out, big brassy, bluesy blasts come out, I think about how every Jazz great had ever felt like on stage, instrument in hand, throwing blotches of yellow, green, black and blue off the wall. Bebopping poetry on the road, uptown downtown, Decca Records and the Blue note, a Tiskit a Taskit, a brown and yellow basket. Queen of Swing, Scat girl, Old 1940s scratchy radio shows, big band and jazz clubs, blues bars, lonely corner street musicians. Cigarette smoke, cocktails, expensive perfume and colognes, the audience is a blur of black and white, blue and brown, all waiting, listening, breathing in every note that Layla sings. For that brief moment, everyone is listening to our song, our song out to the world. I think about the feeling that Ella must've felt the very first time she stepped on stage as a soloist for Chick Webb's Big band at the age of 16. I wish this feeling could last forever. Ella set the standard for Jazz in many ways. She set the Standard in Gershwin, set the standard of scat singing, set the standard for female jazz singers for years to come. No Musician is without inspirations, the old voice of an innovator, willing to bear their soul, sing out with true expression and feeling. I remember sitting there on that stage that hot summer night very well. My girl Layla sitting on my lap, me in my tux, her in her silver plated finish. We lived the song, just let go, felt the music, and helped Ella sing in her glory once again. |