Jazz musicians like their reefers.
BALTIMORE—After smoking a large but indeterminate amount of marijuana, a jazz student mistook his teacher’s silence for a sign of musical approval.
“The dude just sort of looked at me, you know?” said Dustin Beaver, a freshman at the Peabody Conservatory of the Johns Hopkins University. “I did this sick fucking solo on Giant Steps and then quoted some Stevie Wonder and shit, and then when I was done, that cat looked at me silently, like he was thinking, oh, fuck yeah, that cat can fucking play!”
“Dustin probably can’t even play chopsticks, and he thinks he’s some kind of jive-ass motherfuckin’ Mozart,” said the teacher, who prefers to remain anonymous.
When asked whether he has considered the possibility that his teacher was bored or perhaps even dumbfounded by how hopelessly maladroit his performance was, the student shook his head. “Man, I used to transcribe shit and practice scales and shit, you dig? And then he’d always, like, say some highfalutin, motherfuckin’ shit about how I’m not playing in time, or the chords are wrong, or this and that, blah blah blah, but this time, he didn’t even say nothin’,” he said.
“That dumb shit thinks he can play well just because I sell him his reefers,” said the teacher. “Yeah, we jazz musicians like our reefers. But you still gotta practice your motherfuckin’ chords and shit, you dig?”
Dizzy Gillespie is practicing his motherfuckin’ chords and shit.
Categories: Music
The Bald Beagle 
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