Jazz.

Last night I went to the jazz concert put on by the MSU band. I love jazz. Sitting in the dark auditorium I closed my eyes and let the complexities of the music surround me. The bass snaked down around my feet. The quick chord changes from the guitar danced against my chest, the swung eighths on the ride tapped my fingers. The sax blew on my right, and the trumpet! oh the trumpet hit me right in the spine.

I have always liked imagining music spatially. I find the complexities of music amazing, and jazz lends itself very nicely to this type of active listening. Jazz, the progressive type of music. After the head notes rip from the soloists, flying into the rafters and bouncing down around me like ricocheting bullets. I love jazz.

I read somewhere that Nabokov never enjoyed music. He described in some terrible way as a bunch of annoying noises strung together. Last night, in the dark, I was wondering whether Nabokov at least took some delight in the idea of jazz. The complexities, the layers, the beautifully executed solos of the true artists.

I like think that Nabokov respected this music. Well... I love it.