Christmas and All That Jazz

‘Twas the night before Christmas and the gig was running late

A festive eve at home obviously wasn’t to be my fate

Holidays are work days in a jazz musician’s life

A chance to make some extra bucks to take home to the wife

Hanukkah’s already underway, Kwanzaa starts the day after tomorrow

The Ramadan fast ends soon, and I’ll forget the others to my sorrow

If you want to make a living in the jazz world these days

You’d better learn to celebrate in many different ways

The clock slowly turned toward the midnight hour

As we played a jazzed-up version of the “Waltz of the Flowers”

We labored on, “White Christmas,” “Frosty” and “Silent Night”

And I wondered if we’d still be jamming “My Favorite Things” at first light.

But no, we finally got lucky, as the leader kicked off the last holiday medley

The singer mauled “The Christmas Song,” with a version Mel would have found deadly,

We did the “Jingle Bell Mambo” and the “Drummer Boy Bossa Nova”

And wrapped it all up, with a rock “Hallelujah” coda

I packed my horn, gave the guys my best wishes and headed into the night

It was too late to buy presents, even the 7-Elevens were closed up tight

Not that it would have mattered, since the gig barely paid the rent

And whatever I could afford to lay out for my kids had already been spent.

I walked through the falling snow, filled with memories of Christmas past

Of marching bands and Christmas parades, of lighted trees and times too good to last

And I wondered if my kids, when adulthood beckons

Would remember their holidays with the same sweet affection

My footsteps finally led me home to a house that was silent

My wife and my children dreaming the dreams of the innocent

So I sat for a while in the late night still

Watching the snow fall gently on the hill

When I suddenly heard a familiar sound in the distance

The beat of a rhythm section’s lightly swinging cadence

But this one was strange, something I’d never heard before

A brisk and spirited clatter I can only describe as hoofbeats galore

Then a new sound, one both familiar yet odd

Called out through the snowflakes, like a leader commanding a squad

“On Trane! On Dizzy! On Monk! On Duke!

On Sonny! On Bird! On Miles! On Klook!”

The next thing I heard was just as amazing

A set of riffs, hard-swinging and blazing

Played on an instrument that was new to me

The sting of a trumpet, the silk of a sax, the tone of a bone, all blended with glee

I sprang to the window to see what was coming

And was met with a sight that was incredibly stunning

What looked like a bright red ’57 Chevy,

Pulled through the sky by eight reindeer in a bevy

They landed in my yard and the driver leaped out

Grabbing a pack from the back he quickly turned about

I blinked my eyes at the sight of this strange apparition

His cheeks like Dizzy, his smile like Pops, as natty as Miles, looking like a man on a mission.

“Call me Father Jazz,” he said as he came through the door, “musicians are my specialty

“I’ll even make a stop tonight with a little something for Kenny G”

Then, opening his pack, he lightly danced to our little tree

Placing presents beneath it, ever so gently

“There’s a drum set for Alex,” he said, “that kid has great time”

“And a guitar for Allegra, ‘cause the songs she writes are so fine

“And the books and the wristwatch you wanted for your wife

“That you couldn’t afford, living a musician’s life”

This is way too weird, I thought, it must be a dream

Something like this is too good to be what it seems

“Oh, it’s the real deal,” said Father Jazz with a riff-like snap of his fingers

“You’re on my list of serious jazz swingers”

Moving to the doorway he turned back for a final review

“And if you’re wondering why no box has been left for you

“It’s because your present has already been given

“You know what it is? It’s the spirit that makes your imagination so driven”

“Musicians like you know that the gift of music is the gift of love

“It’s a gift that can only have come from above

“And those nonjazz Beatles had it right, for all our sakes

“When they said, ‘The love you take is equal to the love you make’ ”

He bounded lightly through the snow to his flying Chevy

Blew a celestial riff on his amazing horn--so heavy!

And urged his team forward with a rallying command

“On Dizzy! On Bird! On Miles! On Trane!”

As his eager steeds rose into the winter sky

Father Jazz called out one last stirring cry

Looking down with a radiant smile and a farewell wave:

“Stay cool, Bro’ and keep the music playing”