Jam sessions, that was it. Well, we have missed writing up the last three or four sessions, including the 6 hour -make – sure – she – comes – back Noriyo bash, so props to Captain Chaos, Keef the clarinet, Peter, Ari, some other dude whose name I forget (saxophones), Don, Frank, Ray “Lounge” Hood and some other guitarist, Taariq (loser of the password variety), Avi and possibly Luke on bass, Tom, Danilo, Fred, Al “papa” Jazz, and Glen the occasional (all background noises), Jack the T, Annie H, Miss Smiff, Jo, Melinda, Kay, Ebony, (tonsil artistes) Bob, Noriyo, Curtis the John, meself (all sensible pianists, mostly) and anyone else who turned up, tuned in, dropped a beat every now and then for the sake of consistency, and generally obliterated any sense of musicality that those tired old jazz standards once possessed.
Having fulfilled my promise (with mildly sincere apologies to all those I have left out), to name 26 musos in one sentence, I will leave the rest of this brief missive to news of Miss Hortense and Madge from Altona.
The News from Altona West:
Autumn creeps imperceptibly into the West Altona Municipal Park and bottle drop. Certainly, the trees turn a bright orange colour, but that is mainly due to the smoke and flame belching from the oil works at the business end of Refinery Terrace. Hortense, who has been feeling a little low of late, has taken to pondering the lack of inebriated and generous gentlemen who are slow runners. When the wind is in the west, Hortense can still hear the callow screech of Rotten Ronnie Junior’s 2nd sax, emanating through the cracked window of the Altona West Country Women’s Association Hall; where Madame Trixie La Belle persists with her Academie de Danse, despite having no student under the age of 73, and not many over it either. Miss H tried Trixie’s tap session once, on Madge’s exhortation one particularly drunken night at the Strangled Ferret, but gave it up, saying there was too much bump and not enough grind. Poor Hortense has never gotten over Rotten Ronnie, although she would still like to, every now and again.
One does wonder if it would have all turned out differently, but for the outcome of the Nineteenth Century Balkan Conflicts, and the disappearance of the Vicar’s bicycle. Along with the Vicar’s wife and that snake hipped smooth tongued slicked back Italian bicycle salesman whose name I forget. It could all be a coincidence, like 2% of all scientists not believing in man-made climate change, and 2% of the population being certifiably barking mad.
And what, you may ask, of Madge? Well don’t – it does not bear thinking about, although you may have noticed the sun setting sooner these days. Madge is deeply concerned about Climate change: she has noticed that the sea level in Port Phillip Bay rises sharply every time she goes down there for a swim. Madge has her eye on those three bulk carriers anchored off the Altona West beach: Madge is not averse to a bit of bulk, and three ships full of deeply traumatised sailors is right up her… alley.
Don’t Turn Up Next Sunday!
At last, an exhortation that someone might take to heart. We are all off for Easter, so the will be no Session at the Leinster next week. The standard of music will remain the same. So toodlepip and see you at the Leinster on Sunday 15th.