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    Featuring the complete text of chapters 1 – 5 from Hear Me Talkin’ To Ya: The Story of Jazz As Told By the Men Who Made It, a 1955 book by Nat Shapiro and Nat Hentoff

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    Robin D.G. Kelley, author of Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of an American Original

    Thelonious Monk is the gripping saga of an artist’s struggle to “make it” without compromising his musical vision. It is a story that, like its subject, reflects the tidal ebbs and flows of American history in the twentieth century.

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    She didn’t dance to the music; she danced with it. The melody wrapped his arms around her and the chords ran ivory fingers through her curls. Harmony whispered in her ear and she laughed at all his jokes. She twirled up and down scales with him, the hem of her skirt swirling a single syncopated beat behind her.

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    Featuring photographs and excerpts from the Paul Desmond biography, "Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond," by Doug Ramsey

     

     

  • An Online History of Jazz in New Orleans
  • Interview with Thelonious Monk biographer Robin D.G. Kelley
  • Short Fiction Contest-winning story: “The Valley of Ashes," by Anna Dallara
  • Paul Desmond: A Life Told in Pictures, Music and Memories
joed Literature

New Short Fiction Contest-winning story #31: “Night Cafe,” by Joe DiBuduo

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When my doctor released me from the asylum in Saint-Remy, he warned me to stay away from absinthe or my hallucinations would worsen. I didn’t tell him I had no need for absinthe to hallucinate. I often had company, even when there wasn’t anyone with me.

I’d spent some of my time in the asylum playing billiards. Everyone assured me that I was a natural, the best player they’d ever seen. Maybe, instead of painting, I’d play billiards for a living. As soon as I walked past the gates of the asylum, […] Continue reading »

sowhat Literature

Short Fiction Contest-winning story #30: “So What,” by Arya Jenkins

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Whenever I’m pissed off, I escape to the pit. Out the kitchen door, fists deep in the pockets of my tight ass jeans, I head towards the woods back of the house.

I cross the backyard, past Moreno, the poor chained up son-of-a-bitch boxer. Rosa clinches his leash, pulling him close like a kid. The poor son-of-a-bitch tenses as I go by, his spindly legs and stubby tail shivering at my wrath, ears perked, head cocked – Was up girl, grounded again?
[…] Continue reading »