rekkidblogga

Point of departure

So I'm standing there, six classic Blue Note jazz albums (CDs, I mean) in my hand, when he speaks to me.

"Hey, do you listen to jazz?"

Obviously. Since I'm standing there, six classic Blue Note jazz albums (CDs, I mean) in my hand, when he speaks to me. I politely say that I do. He asks me if I've ever heard of Boney James. I say yes, although I'm thinking to myself that Boney James isn't one of "my" jazz guys; I wouldn't buy his stuff. When people in record stores ask me if I've "heard of" someone, I almost always say yes because after having worked at a record store myself for seven years and as a musichead, I've "heard of" tons of artists. But I haven't necessarily really *heard* them. Nor do I like them. I simply have a general knowledge of the fact that they exist. And so, yes - I could honestly say that I had "heard" of Boney James. But it was the kind of "I've heard of him" feeling I get when a little alarm goes off in my head that says "You once filed this artist's CDs in the Lame Jazz section and resented doing it." I like my jazz old school and mostly Blue Note. I am a music snob. And proud.

"I've been looking all over for Boney James in this section but I don't know whether to look under 'Boney' or 'James'..." His voice brought me out of my reverie. Automatically, I said that he should look under "James" and since I happened to literally be right next to the "J" section, I found the Boney James CDs and directed him to them. You can take the girl out of the record store but you can never really take the record store out of the girl.

He thanked me, then proceeded to tell me how awesome Boney James is. The question that I just *knew* was coming next followed:

"You heard his stuff?"

Look, here's why any of this matters. Was he cute? Oh, yes. Blonde, blue-eyed, tall, lanky and willing to talk to a stranger in the record store. All good things. But the thing is, he's into Boney James. He likes this newfangled elevator music that masquerades as "jazz" because - let's face it - it would never sell in the record store if you properly categorized it for what it is: "That Muzak Your OB/GYN Pipes Into His Office To Soothe You While You Wait To Hear The Dreaded Words 'Ready For Your Pap Smear?'"

There's no pretend future for Mr. Pap Smear Muzak Guy and me. Because I love jazz. Anyone who listens to this stuff must really HATE jazz. And good taste. But his one-step-away-from-a-1992-era-Hypercolor-shirt should've clued me into that.

OK, fine. Maybe this is why I'm still single. But I have my Grant Green to keep me warm.

posted by rekkidbraka @ 11:27 AM