70
RAYMOND FEDERMAN
It
was during the winter 1949 ( and what a disgusting winter ) !
I did not wipe my MOUTHPIECE for three weeks after that!
After that when they closed the joint around three in the morning
all of us went back to Frank's garage on the Eastside and it went on
until about six in the morning an unbelievable jam session all the
guys played even me finally three or four solos with my tenor and
at one point Parker tapped me on the shoulder in a kind of EH
CRAZY MAN congratulatory gesture after I played a tremendous
solo a flight of twelve bars on ORNITHOLOGY a tremendous im–
provisation that came out of me just like that I don't know how or
from where all at once but it came out and all the cats were scream–
ing at me BLOW FRENCHY BLOW and so I blew I blew beyond
my possibilities my capacities beyond the limits of my dexterity and
flew like a bird into musical zones unknown to me until then virgin
regions that I couldn't believe existed and suddenly I switched key
from a major sharp to a minor flat and let out a stream of chromatic
scales an incredible burst as though I was weeping and laughing at
the same time in my saxophone blowing my lungs and my heart into
it I felt everything cracking inside of me my blood rushing to my
head when finally I stopped and wiped my lips with my sleeve there
was some blood mixed with the sweat there on my sleeve and it was
then out of nowhere that I felt Parker's hand on my shoulder I
almost wept
Had I fallen dead on the spot right then I wouldn't have cared
at all I had reached once and for all the summit (summit of sum–
mits ) summit which no doubt I would never reach again NEVER
again but I had played I had finally succeeded in playing my one
great solo I had made it and I had played it especially for Parker
for Charlie but also for all my other buddies for all those who
were shouting BLOW FRENCHY BLOW because they understood
that I was blowing fire and flames for them for all the shit that
life throws at you that I was blowing because me too I was hurt–
ing inside like them there in the guts and because there were so
many things we wanted ah so many things we wanted to say but
which never came out except once in a while in the sound of jazz in
the breath and the cry of jazz in the loneliness and the freedom and
