Surprises

I like to read the program notes when I go to a Lunch Hour Concert. Then I know what I'm listening for.

Yesterday the program was Jazz Originals, the staff and Honours students playing some of their own compositions in various combinations.

Jazz is literally about surprise, said the program notes, and since we don't regularly perform together there will indeed be some surprises today.

Now I don't usually find jazz surprising, so I thought that if I was surprised by anything I heard in the next fifty minutes I would be very surprised indeed. That is not to say I was not hoping to be surprised.

The first piece was called Tina. The pianist had composed it, and written a long introduction for himself, which he played while the other players stood with nothing to do. No surprises there.

Then, Dusty Cox said a few words. But surprise! The microphone was faulty! We couldn't hear what he was saying. He didn't notice. The other players laughed at what was to us an inaudible joke.

The third composition was called The Ballad of the Unclean Coffee Machine. This had been composed by the bass player, and was about an attempt at cleaning a coffee machine that had gone horribly wrong. But you only got a surprise if you thought the music might somehow reflect this.

In short, surprise was in short supply, at least for the audience. The players were contantly exhibiting surprise and admiration for one another. This led me to understand a remarkable thing. It didn't much matter about us.

Meanwhile a surprise was unfolding in my mouth. A mustard seed, from lunch, was lodged between my teeth most annoyingly, and refused to dislodge no matter what contortions I tried to perform with my tongue.

Yes there are two sorts of surprises. Ones that surprise you when something happens and ones that surprise you when something doesn't. Perhaps I do get jazz after all.