Jazzman Stranger

I spotted him in the vinyl section. And right away I knew.

I smiled to myself. He probably had a single goal in mind. A secret one perhaps.

He wasn’t a random dude. He wasn’t an amateur.

Records seemed like precious stones – you could tell the way his hands gently flipped through the piles. He was hunting for gems, his eyes sometimes marveling at old photographs. Nothing could disturb him. Nothing could alter his peace.

Except maybe for a female voice, boldly asking –

I think you know the best record players on the market these days. What do you recommend?

A pause.

Is it for a gift?
No, I said. It’s something I want to buy for myself this year.

He pulled out his phone and typed in a few words. The Technics SL 1200 came up.

This. This is the one I have. It’s been around forever. Don’t go crazy with all the fancy ones. Think about the kind of sound you want to hear.

I was trying to memorize the code, holding my hand back as it started to reach for the little notebook nestled in the back pocket of my purse. What would I be without a notebook?

Music is my jam, I whispered.
He said what about jazz?
I said I’m learning.

He smiled.

Then I watched his body hinge forward, his hands once again entering jazz territory, the kind he had made his own.

His eyes found me again, quietness eventually leaving him. The energy was clean. No hitting on. No pretending. Music was our common language. And it felt good to be able to have those kinds of genuine conversations with a stranger.

Pointing at Miles and John, he went on – these you can’t miss. Ahmad Jamal is a staple, one of the best pianists in the world, and that live recording… Forget it!

They guy went spiraling, the excitement and love for jazz taking over. At this point, I had completely ditched the idea of using my notebook. I was just drinking all of his words.

What’s with the color blue?
A vibe, he answered. It has to do with the light. Back then. When it was all smoky and no one could really see past the train station.

And the list kept growing, soon reaching a level I couldn’t wrap my head around. Samara Joy was in there, Keith Jarrett, Oscar Peterson and Eric Truffaz. Melody Gardot of course and Billie Holiday. Gregory Porter too.

This is more hip pop jazz he said, holding Mad Lib’s Shades of Blue up. Again, blue was involved.

I could no longer keep up. I had to pull out the damn notebook. And I did. But only when he was gone.

A minute went by.

He came back.

By the way, this is just a glimpse. His tone was kind. Whenever you’re ready, go to Paris for the big stuff.

I’m not sure what the big stuff is. But I will.