…it’s easy to forget that it wasn’t always so.
Last night we were in the Jazz Keller in Stuttgart. The Chicagoans, a jazz sextet (drums, bass, sax, trumpet, guitar, clarinet, and piano ) made up of a well balanced group of international musicians played three sets of excellent jazz.
I was a little girl again…
…dancing on an old parquet, surrounded by a burgundy carpet. Wearing shiny black patent leather shoes, white stockings and my most glamorous red velvet dress for my special “date” with Grandfather John.
Dinner in the Starlight Room at the Kansas City Club.
The music was the same, that which I heard last night, and it still rings of starched white tablecloths, polished silver, rare prime rib of beef, the soft clink-clink of crystal wine glasses, a whiff of cigar and beautiful, expensive women.
I remember, I wanted someday to be one of those women.
Then I wondered - to what music did the Grandfather John’s of Southern Germany dance, when they invited their granddaughters to dinner in the late 1960’s? Jens was sitting beside me and I leaned over and asked him (he is not a granddaughter, but he was my next best alternative). “I don’t remember” he told me ” but in any case, not ‘black music’”. I had to laugh - Jazz? Black music?
After the set ended, I asked Jürgen (who is also not a granddaughter, but some days you really do just have to work with what you have). “…in any case, not ‘black music’.” he assured me, using exactly the same words as Jens.
The ocean between our two worlds before 1995 opened up in my mind’s eye and filled with an endless expanse of time and space. I couldn’t help but feel happy and blessed that my Daddy’s Daddy, was my grandfather.