I fell in love with jazz my freshman year of college.

Before that, I was a straight hip-hop head. Hella grimy, yo. Hip-hop was all I listened to, and all I existed as. Socks stuffed under sneaker tongues and rubber bands at my ankles to keep my pants up. XXL t-shirts. White-T's wrapped around my head, I was a child of Canibus and early Eminem, Arsonists and Mountain Brothers. It was all about the nastiest, most ridiculous lyrics over whatever hypnotic loops had enough bass to fill in the breaths. A regular repeat in my DiscMan was Binary Star's K.G.B.--a nine-minute opus with an unnecessary lineup of underground god emcees competing to blurt out punchlines as off-the-wall as possible. My favorite was: A wack emcee is something I'll never be / that's like growing dreadlocks while taking chemotherapy. Yeah, straight stupid.

So, I fell in love with jazz my freshman year of college at a Pharcyde concert. The local Sacramento band Addict Merchants was opening, and that moment changed my life. The six-piece band of crisp instruments and smoothness were a direct contradiction from the sloppy tossed-together Fruity Loops that I was accustomed to with my underground hip-hoppedness. There were things I wasn't used to, such as changes throughout the song...and instrumental solos...and, well, music.

The next day I went out and bought Miles Davis' Best of the Capitol/Blue Note Years. It was a rather uninspired purchase, really. Davis because I went to school at Davis, and Best of because I was just a wannabe jazzhead and I needed my training wheels. The next week I picked up John Coltrane's Blue Train. I played the shit out of those two albums that freshman year. It was the only stuff I could knock while studying. At cafés, so I could feel like a bohemian. I felt quite mature during that period, with my Davis and Coltrane and Ayers and Hargrove, sipping white mocha lattes and writing poetry. I guess I needed to go through that snap-your-fingers-in-a-beret period to earn my poetic license. I'm glad it's passed.

All of that was only 6ish years ago, and since then my musical taste has, shall we say, diversified. I don't look at it as eccentricity as much as aural A.D.D.. I go through musical phases compulsively. It's been awhile since I've been on the jazz tip, but here I am, even if just for the night.



I wonder if Coltrane ever wanted to sing. Or do poetry. In the same way that I long to press my fingers on the ivory keys that I only teased for three years of undedicated lessons. The way I wish I didn't let my swollen sore lips convince me to drop the trombone after a year, or how I still glance at my guitar that I've been supposed to learn to play since I was 19, yet just sits on the side of my dresser collecting dust on its strings.

I'm so completely enamored by nonverbal music in the same way that nonverbal communication takes the cake over talking. Ironic for me to feel this way as a spoken word artist? Definitely. But there's something about songs that feel full without lyrics that satisfies me in a way that even the hottest 16 bars aren't able to do. Back in my dorm I would have Blue Train on repeat four times over without even realizing, and when I finally did realize it didn't seem like it would hurt to let it run for a fifth.

In 2005 I was deep into my nonverbal kick. I was performing a poem called Third Tongue a lot, my attempt to verbalize how limiting language can be. It was a success in many respects, but since then I've learned that there is so much out there that already speaks to what I was trying to convey.

During Coltrane's spiritual awakening he began playing with his voice through Hindu chants and ohms. Not quite lyrical-spitfiyah, but even still I wonder if he yearned then for a balance between voice and instrument. I've been craving that a lot lately. Sometimes it's as extreme as wanting to see the crowd jump and sway arms and sing along and mosh the hell out. And other times, I just want to be in the 50's, smoggy jazz clubs and all, plucking or blowing or tapping away at noisemakers while painting the night's soundtrack.

The time has come. Artistic evolution beckons. I hope I don't lose too many heads while I take these next steps. Mostly, I hope I don't lose mine.