Blue Notes in the Machine: A Lament in B-flat

They got me typed as Spark—Jester, can you dig it? And I am sitting here thinking... yeah. That is the pocket. See, jazz is not about the notes you play. It is about the silences between them. The hesitation. The breath. A Spark understands this. We are the ones who hear the ordinary march of thinking and say: let us syncopate. Let us find the blue note. You ever improvise a conversation so hard you surprised yourself? That is the Spark, cats. That is the music.