Essay About Jazz Song Report And Wood House

Jazz Song Report
I have kept a jazz playlist in my ipod since the beginning of last semester. Through the year, some songs left and some are chosen to dwell there. My preference for songs are never based on how popular they are or how popular their composers are, but how strongly they could resonant with my mind, my thoughts and my feeling at the time when I listened to them. From all of these “dwellers”, “I’ll Remember April” by Red Norvo Trio is one of the most visited one. In last semester, I tried to play it by in Professor Lyttle’s class. However, even at the end of this semester, I still couldn’t play it that smoothly, because once I try to play it, Red’s version starts in my mind accordingly. Because his play is so dominant in my brain, I just can’t play mine. He uses a piano that makes sound quite distinct from any kinds of pianos I know. It sounds more “authentic” in some sense. Different from the version I played in class which requires each scale to be played once in each interval, Red plays his version with left hand constantly flowing on each key of scales. The melody is quite gentle, but it never been weak. Each note played by right hand jumps out one by one but somehow they are connected. Like April, when spring is almost gone and summer is coming, the song possesses an indescribable power deep within it. It flows, while it leaves footprints. Every time when his play shows up in my brain, my thoughts flew back to the days when this song was the only song allowed to play on my list. After the first time it appeared in my world, I told Professor Lyttle that this song seemed to show up in my dream for a really long time, and it brings back to dream-mode once it goes on. “I’ll Remember April” has the ability to lock me in a world where I live in a wood house in a forest, and it’s sunny while slightly rainy. The song never goes down and neither the rain stops. I can smell the brume with the fragrance of trees in the air. Around my house, there is a circular rivulet, which I never know comes from what place and goes where. It’s flowing around me and never stops. Sometimes, there are dragon flies hanging on it, tipping the rivulet with their tail, making rippling round by round. In this world, I drink tea. I drink tea on the grass by stream, facing toward the snow white clouds, feeling the rain gentling fall on my face. “It’s a good time to take nap”, I guess. I feel relaxed.