Jazz At The Alcazar
Our guide talks of minds concentrated by the rhythmic radiance
of flowery repetitions, interlacing geometric shapes,
ribbons of Qur’anic inscriptions joined to proclaim oneness.
I’m out of it for a smoke, earphones ablaze with Ornette Coleman,
once accused of ‘standing on the throat of jazz,
casting aside chords and reaching for improvisational anarchy.’
Back under starlit ceilings, there’s more about homage to refined
abstraction but now the tonal and the atonal jar
in conflicting adjacent worlds. To build bridges does hope
lie in a jam between two minimal mathematicals? Would Messengers,
Art Blakey and muslim converts, smoky sinners as cool zealots,
be heading up four rivers of paradise to restful pavilions?
John Quicke © 2017