Charlie Parker by Jack Kerouac with Jazzanooga and Celebration of Southern Literature
[embed]https://instagram.com/p/1qq8UBkSdd/[/embed] Charlie Parker looked like Buddha. Charlie Parker who recently died laughing at a juggler on TV after weeks of strain and sickness was called the perfect musician and his expression on his face was as calm beautiful and profound as the image of the Buddha represented in the East — the lidded eyes the expression that says: all is well.
This was what Charlie Parker said when he played: all is well. You had the feeling of early-in-the-morning like a hermit’s joy or like the perfect cry of some wild gang at a jam session Charlie burst his lungs to reach the speed of what the speedsters wanted and what they wanted was his eternal slowdown. A great musician and a great creator of forms that ultimately find expression in mores and what-have-you.
Musically as important as Beethoven yet not regarded as such at all a genteel conductor of string orchestras in front of which he stood proud and calm like a leader of music in the great history Worldnight and wailed his little saxophone the alto with piercing, clear lament in perfect tune and shining harmony As listeners reacted without showing it and began talking and soon the whole joint is docking and talking and everybody talking — and Charlie Parker whistling them on to the brink of eternity with his Irish St. Patrick Patootlestick. And like the holy mists we blop and we plop in the waters of slaughter and white meat — and die one after one in Time. And how sweet a story it is
when you hear Charlie Parker tell it either on records or at sessions or at official bits in clubs (shots in the arm for the wallet). Gleefully he whistled the perfect horn anyhow made no difference… Charlie Parker forgive me. Forgive me for not answering your eyes. For not having made an indication of that which you can devise. Charlie Parker pray for me. Pray for me and everybody.
In the Nirvanas of your brain where you hide — indulgent and huge — no longer Charlie Parker but the secret unsayable Name that carries with it merit not-to-be-measured from here to up down east or west. Charlie Parker lay the bane off me …and everybody.