Drum on your drums, batter on your banjoes / Sob on the long cool winding saxophones / Go to it, O jazzmen (Rolf Kühn Unit, poem by Carl Sandburg)

The man bent over his guitar / A shearsman of sort. The day was green / They said „You have a blue guitar, / You do not play things as they are“ / The man replied, „Things as they are / Are changed upon the blue guitar.“ (Rolf Kühn Unit, poem by Wallace Stevens)

Even Miles was giggling in the darkness. / It’s always a bitch to be out / front. He summons the bassline / of his thoughts in the shadows, tracing a new theory / of silence. Don’t worry about the next gig. / Their ears are still learning. (Rolf Kühn Unit, poem by John Keene) for […]