I had an old-fashioned conversation with a jazz friend this afternoon. “Old-fashioned” means that no electrical devices were used and we were within audible range of each other. He passed along the newest evidence of the Decline of the West: when he goes to a club to hear a band playing in the idiom this blog celebrates, after the opening ensemble, one or more of the horn players in the front line opens his cellphone or his BlackBerry or iPhone and starts texting. Someone plays a solo, puts the horn down, and texts someone else. It certainly gives new meaning to the notion of “collective improvisation,” doesn’t it?
“Geez, I missed the start of my solo on AT THE JAZZ BAND BALL because my girlfriend just texted me. She’s on her way to the club.”
What would Jelly Roll Morton say about that?