What does it matter?
This metaphorical island, this situation beyond comprehension
The tension in realizing that there is one item you need.
Rustling through the reed across the sandy coast
You toast in the sun like a ghost in the house no one enters.
How will you survive on this landscape?
How will you escape this cape?
Maybe a ship, a trip back to the land.
Back to man, back to the struggles of Muggles and boundless expansion
I don't want back to the mansion of gargantuan population
I want elation in the one thing I truly need.
I'm weak for music, for jazz.
I seek the funkiest back beats as my soul bleats for more
I implore the Gordon Goodwins, Basie, Sinatra
To be Frank I want their mantra.
If I had to be stuck on an island I wouldnt be stuck
If I had a truck-full of jigs, swings, and blues.
They would Fly Me to the Moon at noon
Oh how I would swoon to the improvised tune.
They would take me to April in Paris
With the fairest dame for the rarest game.
I wouldn't have to Act My Age.
Music isn't a cage.
It doesnt gauge my aptitude to the world.
Twirled in harmonies I can entrance in the dance of the musician
There is no attrition to the mission of a saxophone.
There is no friction in the diction of a trumpets relaxed moan.
So I say to you, that island is not the one to escape from.
Its the one to escape to, so I can enjoy the sweet coo
From the greatest artists of almost 90 years before.
Jazz is more than just food for the soul its a door, its a tour,
Of the allure of the music language that has endured longer than next pop hit.
I admit, I just can't live without it.